Candles, Snow, and Mistletoe
by freelancer starbuck
Summary: A Christmas mission evokes unexpected emotions in our two favorite agents!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Candles, Snow, and Mistletoe  
  
Author: Freelancer Starbuck and Andi Horton  
  
Website: www.geocities.com/freelancer_starbuck  
  
Disclaimer: Not ours!!  
  
Feedback: YEAH BABY!  
  
Archiving: Contact one of us for permission...  
  
Rating: G (fluff much?)  
  
Summary: A Christmas mission evokes unexpected emotions in our two favorite agents!  
  
Author's Note: Lets try this again! The last time I tried to post this, it didn't exactly work, so I'm reposting. Andi and I have worked for months on this story, tweaking it and manipulated it until it turned into this! We have it posted on the SD-6 boards right now too, and even though it's late, we decided y'all deserve to see it too.  
  
***  
  
"Can you believe there's not even a whole week left until Christmas?" Francie whined, peeking cautiously at the calendar as if she expected the numbers to leap off and attack her. "I mean, where does the time go? I still gotta buy things for almost all of my friends, and my family, and it's just gonna be a major headache from here on in."  
  
"Well," Sydney said pointedly, looking up from where she was hastily slathering a bagel with cream cheese, "if you had started shopping back in November, the way I told you to, this wouldn't have happened."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Francie swished her hand at her friend impatiently. "Look, I gotta get to the mall early, so can I count on you for supper?"  
  
"Oh, gee, I don't know, France," Sydney said hesitantly. "I got a call about- about work, and they seemed to hint that I was going to be pretty busy tonight."  
  
Francie smiled ruefully, and nodded.  
  
"Fine. I'll order enough Chinese for both of us, then. How does that sound?"  
  
"Great." Sydney flashed her a smile, downed the bagel in record time, and headed out the door before Francie could tell her she had cream cheese on her nose.  
  
LA in the winter may seem like a paradox to many. Snow was an accepted rarity - all right, then, pretty well a non-event - and softwood trees a thing of children's storybooks. Sydney drove through the balmy city with Christmas carols playing on her stereo, and along the way she saw palm trees decorated with red tinsel, plastic reindeer grazing on lush green lawns, and fake, cotton snow decorating the windows of several shops.  
  
She wasn't heading towards the Credit Dauphine building- SD-6 had closed for Christmas break the day before. Rather, she was heading to a meeting with Vaughn, since the CIA didn't go on break until Christmas Eve Day, and even then a few unfortunate saps had to drudge away on what should have been a holiday.  
  
After making quite sure that she was not being followed, she swung into a vacant parking spot across from a deli, and slipped around back, into the warehouse she found there.  
  
Vaughn was waiting for her, and when they saw each other, they both blinked.  
  
"Is that cream cheese?" he asked, just as she gasped,  
  
"Are those reindeer?"  
  
"Huh? I- oh, yeah. They are." he peeked down at his red tie, which was liberally peppered with miniature renderings of such mammals. "It's, uh- a gift. From my mom. Last year."  
  
"It's very sweet," Sydney smiled. "Now, what was that?"  
  
"Huh? Oh- cream cheese. I think." He pointed to the white dot on her nose, and, blushing furiously, she swiped it away.  
  
"Thanks. Gosh, I ate so fast today, I- well, Francie put off her Christmas shopping until the last minute, as usual, so now she's in a total panic, and I had to weasel out of going with her because of the phone call. Why am I here, anyway? Sloane isn't going to be pulling anything until after Boxing Day."  
  
"No," Vaughn agreed, "he's not, but Sloane isn't the CIA's only objective, and because it's also cold and flu season, we're short-staffed enough that Devlin asked me to make you an offer."  
  
"What sort of an offer?" Sydney asked suspiciously.  
  
"A job offer. You see, the USA recently had some military intelligence documents stolen. Highly sensitive information, and highly classified. We suspect a wealthy quasi-terrorist who's got a finger in every pie that suits his fancy. He makes a business out of stealing just such documents from every nation in the world, and selling them to the highest bidder."  
  
"Who, in this instance, is . . ?"  
  
"Well, America has no shortage of enemies, of course, but in light of the recent developments across seas, Iraq seems a particularly potent threat to us. At least, one of the largest. But that doesn't mean he won't be approached by other countries, too, so our principal objective is simply to get them back."  
  
"Do we know where the papers are?" Sydney asked, and Vaughn nodded.  
  
"As a matter of fact, we do. Charles Wallace spends his Christmases in Canada, where he has distant relatives, and our sources would indicate that he's taken the papers there- perhaps even to sell them. He's hosting a large charity function this Thursday night at his home in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and you are going to be there, posing as a guest. You're going to get into his safe, and get every document there, just to make sure we make a clean sweep of it all."  
  
"Thursday?" Sydney looked at him in dismay. "Vaughn, Christmas Eve?!"  
  
"Yes, I know, it's not ideal. But remember the time difference- if you get in and out quickly, you'll be back here in time to have a few drinks with your friends before you go to bed."  
  
"I suppose I should be pleased, then," she said dryly, and Vaughn's lips twitched.  
  
"I suppose so."  
  
"Well," she sighed, "when do I leave?"  
  
"We board the plane the day after tomorrow at-"  
  
"We?" Sydney looked at him sharply. "Vaughn-"  
  
"I'm going with you," he confirmed it before she could even ask the question. "I will be with you the whole time, and I'll be handling you from outside the house while you're on point."  
  
"Really? Well- good. It'll be nice to have somebody to talk to. I mean- it'll be almost Christmas, after all, and it's nice to have friends around you at Christmas."  
  
"Yeah," he smiled, "it is."  
  
"So- we'll be leaving Thursday night? Right after we get the papers?"  
  
"According to plan, yes."  
  
"We'll be there- what, almost four whole days, then?"  
  
"More like three days. We board the plan Monday at four in the afternoon our time, and arrive in the Halifax International Airport roughly seven hours later, at three in the morning their time."  
  
"Ouch," Sydney whistled appreciatively. "Hope they give us nice pillows."  
  
"Oh, they will." Vaughn assured her. "I have connections."  
  
"Connections in the pillow department?" her smile was sweet, genuine, and truly amused, causing Vaughn to give her a rather embarrassed grin back.  
  
"Yeah, sort of."  
  
"Hey, I'll take whatever I can get. But back to what I was just saying- why will we be there for three whole days? I mean, wouldn't it be better if we just got in and out?"  
  
"Well, Devlin suggested that we maybe make some connections with people who will be at the party before we arrive. I mean, Halifax is a small enough city that if nobody knows who you are, people start to notice. So we'll be going to the ballet, and some sort of museum fundraiser brunch, and a hockey game."  
  
"A hockey game?"  
  
"Yeah. I got us box seats to a Mooseheads game."  
  
"More of your 'connections', I suppose?" she twinkled at him, and he smiled back.  
  
"Something like that."  
  
"But will we be running into the sort of people who will be at that party at a hockey game?"  
  
"Sure, we might. Or maybe we won't. But a few of the people on the guest list have seats near ours, and even if they don't talk to us - and common courtesy dictates that they will - at least we'll have gotten that hockey game, right?"  
  
"Right," she smiled. "But- what do I tell Sloane?"  
  
"If he should ask, either before or after your trip, what you were doing in Halifax, tell him that there was a piece of art for sale at the museum that you knew your father would like. A friend saw it when she was there on business, and mentioned it to you."  
  
"Won't he ask why I didn't get it?"  
  
"I don't think that he'll have cause to, because you will actually be getting this- this statue. We've arranged for you to purchase it- you can give it to your dad, or you can change your story a bit, and give it to Francie or Will or somebody. But we need a good excuse, and that's as good a one as we could come up with on such short notice."  
  
"It's a good one," she reassured him quickly. "It's really fine. I was just wondering. And I only needed to know how long we'd be staying so I'd know how much to pack. My entire wardrobe, apparently, if we're going to be going to things as varied as the ballet and a hockey game. Not that I mind- it's going to kind of be like a vacation, isn't it?"  
  
"Yeah," he smiled, "I guess it is. Now, that's about it for now. I won't officially meet you at the airport- your ticket will be waiting at the counter, and we'll board separately. Our seats aren't even together- we'll be taking separate cabs, as well. Devlin thought it would be best if we didn't make contact until we reached the hotel."  
  
"Fine. And what will we be- posing as there?"  
  
"I'm sorry?" he asked, and Sydney got the feeling that he was being deliberately obtuse.  
  
"Our cover story, Vaughn," she pressed. "What will it be? Who will the hotel staff know us as? How will we be introducing ourselves to other people?"  
  
"We- erm- we'll be posing as Mr. and Mrs. Green. As- as husband and wife." He spat it out in a hurry, his words tumbling over themselves in his haste to get further reassurances out before she could speak.  
  
"But the couch in our suite is a Hide-A-Bed, so I'll take that, of course, and I'm really sorry if this will bother you, but Devlin thought it would be easier than my idea, which is that we would be posing as old college friends, and-"  
  
"Vaughn!" she broke in, laughing. "It's fine. It doesn't bother me at all, actually- it will be fun, fooling everybody. Will my ticket be under my real name, though, or my married one?"  
  
"Oh- yours. Sloane might get a little suspicious if you went to Halifax, but somehow got there and back in three days without flying." He looked immensely relieved that she wasn't upset, though if you had asked him why he'd thought she would be, he wouldn't have been able to tell you.  
  
"Fine, then," she smiled. "I'll see you very early Tuesday morning, then."  
  
"Very." he agreed, smiling. "Until then, stay safe, okay?"  
  
She paused at the door and, looking back over her shoulder, she smiled. For a brief moment, it was as if there was an unspoken understanding between the two of them. She nodded slightly.  
  
"I will, Vaughn. You, too."  
  
Then she was gone, and Vaughn was left alone to think about the upcoming trip, and study the reindeer that dotted his tie.  
  
  
***  
  
Needless to say, Francie and Will were not happy at the recent developments. Their usual Christmas evening activities would have to be altered to suit two until Sydney could get home, and they badgered her to give it up right up until the very afternoon that she was scheduled to leave.  
  
"I'm so sorry, guys! I swear, if we didn't need this account so badly, I'd turn it down in a heartbeat." Sydney said for what had to be the hundredth time in three days, then turned to glare at her suitcase reproachfully, and tug again at the zipper. "But it's my job, after all, and, well . . . Ugh, this stupid thing will not close!"  
  
Will hauled himself obligingly up off the bed to sit down on the suitcase. Sydney pulled again, this time achieving the desired result. She smiled triumphantly at her friends, but their answering expressions were not so cheerful.  
  
"I understand, Syd, really I do, but- coming home on Christmas Eve? Why not the day before? I mean, travelling anywhere at this time of year is almost dangerous, and those people work you so hard . . ."  
  
Worry swam in Francie's words as well as her eyes, and for just a moment, Sydney thought about calling Devlin and demanding that somebody else take over.  
  
The feeling passed quickly, and though she told herself that it was because she knew she was doing something good for her country, deep down, she wondered if it mightn't be something a little more. Maybe the opportunity to spend some honest, open time with Vaughn, actually looking directly at him and speaking openly with him in public, was just too incredible a chance for her to pass up. The amusing hesitation he'd showed, and the rather embarrassed look that had crossed his face when he had divulged their cover story, was still running through her mind, and a smile crept onto her lips.  
  
"Sydney?" Francie was saying, and Sydney quickly shook herself free from her preoccupation.  
  
"Sorry- what was that?"  
  
"I just said that if you were sure you couldn't get out of it, to have a safe trip. What's up with you?"  
  
"Nothing." Sydney muttered, hauling her suitcase off her bed with an effort, and dancing abruptly sideways so it didn't crush her toes, "I guess I just want to get going, is all, and- ugh!" she stumbled sideways after trying to take a few steps with the case. Clearly, this called for a quick re-evaluation of her strategy.  
  
"Hey, Will?" she glanced at him. "A little help, here?"  
  
***  
  
LAX, Sydney learned the next morning, was ridiculously busy so close to Christmas, especially at three thirty in the afternoon.  
  
As she wove her way through the crowds, she found that herself narrowly missing being mowed down by any number of frazzled-looking travelers. Some of them were waiting for late flights, some were panicking when they discovered that theirs were ahead of schedule, and some were just plain unpleasant. One woman in particular, juggling an armful of babies and two heavy-looking suitcases, looked ready to trample anybody who got in her way in order to make her flight on time. Sydney barely dove to the side in time, and activity continued to swirl around her as she escaped into the restroom.  
  
Once inside, dabbing at her lips to even out the hastily-applied berry-dark lipstick, she took the opportunity to glance unobtrusively at the other two occupants of the washroom. A liberally-pierced teenager, with jet black hair and emerald eyes surrounded with thick make up, adjusted her tank top and brushed at her jeans. An elderly woman dug through her purse, humming Christmas carols too loud and off key. Hardly anything to be wary of, but training will tell, and Sydney's was particularly chatty as she sized them up anyway, just in case.  
  
Her face finally arranged to her satisfaction, she angled her arm so she could see her watch. It was a gift Marshall had prepared for her when he'd drawn her name in the Secret Santa exchange at work the week before- Versace, with a built in laser and decoder attachment to check the time. She had, she saw, twenty minutes to get to the flight gate, which was located halfway across the airport. She gathered her carry-on and took off, slight anxiety making her wobble slightly on her heels. This was one flight she was definitely not going to miss.  
  
Vaughn was trying to sit on one of the hard plastic chairs, such as are provided by air terminals. It was somewhat difficult, as he kept slipping down off of the seat, but he barely noticed, so intent was he on searching the throngs for a familiar face. He finally spotted her racing toward the gate, her hair rippling out behind her and barely concealed anxiety on her face. It was hard for him not to smile when her tense expression was quickly replaced with one of relief when she saw that she still had almost five minutes before boarding began, and then began searching for a seat.  
  
She chose one directly behind him so they wouldn't have to make eye contact, but could still converse if they wanted to.  
  
"What took you so long?" Vaughn wondered, trying to brace the soles of his shoes against the floor to keep himself in place, "I was beginning to worry you'd miss the flight."  
  
"I got held up at home," she explained, checking her watch against the terminal clock, and fiddling with the controls of the former to set it four hours ahead, "Francie and Will weren't too eager to let me out of the house. I was almost afraid they'd tie me to a chair and force-feed me fruitcake and eggnog!"  
  
At that, he found it impossible not to smile.  
  
"Not fruitcake!" he sympathized in mock horror, and could almost picture the rueful expression on her face as she nodded.  
  
"Yes, fruitcake. Every year, we go through the same thing- Francie bakes about twenty loaves of this stuff nobody wants to eat, and then she expects us to pretend we enjoy it."  
  
"What do you do?" Vaughn wondered.  
  
"Well," Sydney sounded apologetic, "she always manages to finish it before the Christmas Food Drive, so every year Will and I generously choose to inflict our suffering on twenty homeless families."  
  
"I suppose we all have our self-serving moments," Vaughn grinned, then both of them glanced up as their flight was called to board.  
  
"All set?" he wondered, getting to his feet and reaching for the case that held his laptop.  
  
"Ready as I'll ever be," Sydney decided, reaching for her own carry-on. "Let's go."  
  
Once on board the plane, they found that their seats were located directly across the aisle from each other's, which might provide the pleasant opportunity for a chat sometime later on in the flight. In the meantime, though, Sydney stowed her carry-on in the tiny compartment above her seat, then settled down as best as she could, pulling out a book and beginning to read. Vaughn, in turn, switched on his laptop and opened a game of solitaire, which he began to play with characteristic strategy.  
  
The flight attendant, however, nabbed him before they even started moving, and asked that he put it away until they were in the air. He obliged, and settled back into his seat to wait as they began to move.  
  
The plane rose into the air with a minimum of bumps, and steadily gained altitude. By the time it leveled off, Vaughn's laptop had gone into sleep mode, so he had to re-load the entire game and start from scratch.  
  
Otherwise, the ride promised to be particularly uneventful. Clouds cuddled up to the belly of the plane, so all that was visible out the window was an expanse of white nothingness. Sydney found herself leaning over the lap of the fat, middle-aged man dozing beside her, and wondering if any of them were snow clouds.  
  
"Almost looks like you could walk on it, doesn't it?" Vaughn smiled, and she glanced over her shoulder, returning the grin with one of her own.  
  
"Yes, it does. But I don't suppose I should try it."  
  
"No," he agreed, "I don't suppose you should. Otherwise, your family might wonder what happened to you."  
  
"They might," she smiled, and he offered his hand.  
  
"Michael Vaughn."  
  
"Sydney Bristow." She took his in hers, and they shook. This, she decided, with a rush of delight, was going to be one of the best Christmas holidays she had ever had. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2/7  
  
***  
  
The flight, if you would pardon the pun, flew by. Sydney and Vaughn talked nonstop, and as the captain announced that they were nearing the Halifax International Airport, both realised they were getting a little hoarse, not to mention tired- it was three o'clock in the morning in Halifax.  
  
"This is great," Sydney rolled her eyes, reaching up to touch her throat, "now how am I supposed to cheer on the Mooseheads, hmm?"  
  
"Rest your voice," Vaughn advised, smiling, as they were instructed to sit back in their seats, and buckle their seat belts, "and tomorrow night you'll be more than ready to scream yourself hoarse again."  
  
"Thanks," she laughed, rolling her eyes and settling down in her seat as the plan began to bank and descend towards the runway. "I think."  
  
The landing was every bit as smooth as the take off, and the only part that bothered her at all about it was not being able to see Vaughn until they reached the hotel- or much of anything, considering how surprisingly dark it was, even for three am.  
  
Still, she wasn't able to dwell on that for long. The second she set foot out of the Halifax International Airport, she was unable to think about anything but how cold it was.  
  
Well- cold for somebody who was wearing a silk tank and linen pants, at any rate.  
  
She quickly shrugged into the blazer she had slung over her arm back in LA when it grew too warm, and blew fiercely on her hands as she waited for the limo to be brought around. When the limo finally arrived, motor purring reassuringly, and headlights slicing two clear, golden beams through the dark, the driver mercifully hopped out to snatch at her luggage so she could slide into the heated leather interior, and breathe a sigh of relief.  
  
"I didn't remember Canada as being this cold," she frowned, once the driver had settled back into his seat. He smiled, and shook his head.  
  
"No, Miss, you're right, it usually isn't at this time of year. In fact, it's about ten degrees below what it should be. We're having something of a cold snap- not too comfortable for any of us. The only good thing is, it's too cold to snow, so the roads are clear."  
  
Sydney smiled, settling back in her seat to watch the darkened world pass by outside her window. She could see, when they passed by street lights, that the hills were dusted generously with snow, and she knew that this, too, was a rare occurrence- snow didn't usually stick around until after December had come and gone. Yet it added just the right Christmas card touch to the whole wintry scene- wrought iron lamp posts glowing placidly in the dark, revealing themselves to be strung with green garlands and red ribbons, and white lights that sparkled in nearly every shop window the limo passed. She could almost picture rosy-cheeked children, bundled up in their holiday best, dragging down on Mummy or Daddy's hand to slow them down long enough to get a really good look at all the treasures inside so they would know just what to ask Santa for when they got home.  
  
Santa brought to mind another question that had been bothering her, and she asked it now.  
  
"Is there supposed to be snow on Christmas Eve?" she wondered aloud. "That's when my return flight is. I don't want to get stuck here."  
  
"I don't blame you," the driver agreed. "Christmas is a time for family, Miss, if you don't mind me saying so. No, from what I hear, it's going to be colder than ever on the twenty-fourth, though my kids are sure hoping it'll warm up overnight, so Santa's sleigh hasn't any trouble getting through."  
  
Sydney laughed, settling back into her seat a bit more.  
  
"So- the Prince George, wasn't it?" her chauffeur verified, and she nodded.  
  
"Yes, thank-you. And if you could hurry even a bit, I'd really appreciate it."  
She sucked in her breath, weighing the next words in her head before she spoke them as casually as she could.  
  
"My- husband might start to wonder what's keeping me."  
  
"I'm sure he will," the driver agreed, nodding energetically, and Sydney was relieved that he didn't seem to question that she should have a husband, or that they weren't taking the same limo. "I'll get you there as soon as I can, Miss- sorry about the speed, but it pays to be cautious this late at night. The sort of people who are still be wandering around are those who just might be far gone enough to jump out in front of me, just for the heck of it."  
  
Sydney reassured him that she understood as he went on informatively.  
  
"I'm not sure if they told you at the airport, but because of your round-trip ticket and the special holiday rates, a bonus has been included in your fare, which is the use of this limousine for the duration of your stay in the city. If you and your husband have anywhere you need to go, my number is here," he passed her his card, "and I'll be on call twenty-four seven."  
  
Sydney thanked him, took the card to deposit in her purse, and then occupied herself with digging through her carry-on for the light coat she had stashed in there before leaving.  
  
"I'm going to have to do some shopping," she muttered to herself as she located it, and shrugged her arms deep into further, still welcome warmth, "Either that, or freeze to death."  
  
Her chauffeur, overhearing, reassured her that the Prince George Hotel was connected by a glass walkway above the street, known as the Halifax Link, to a nearby shopping centre, and that anything she wished to buy, she could most likely get there. It was on this warming note that he pulled up to her destination, coming to a halt at the curbside in front of a pair of glass doors shrouded by a snow-covered bonnet, and jumped out to hurry around and hold the door open for her.  
  
No sooner had Sydney stepped out of the car than did Vaughn come tearing through the front doors of the hotel to scoop her up in his arms, and spin her about in a full circle, declaring that he had missed her terribly. After such an affectionate greeting, one might have wondered that he only kissed her on the forehead, so it was probably well that the only other people around were the doorman and Sydney's driver. And thankfully, they were too sleepy and busy with Sydney's luggage, respectively, to notice anything 'off' about the young couple who were now exchanging verbal pleasantries like a normal husband and wife.  
  
By the time the driver had set the weighty suitcase on the ground, a bleary-eyed bellhop was emerging with a wheeled luggage cart to take it, and Vaughn was still speaking solicitously to his 'wife'.  
  
"How was your flight, dear?" he wondered, and Sydney's smile was especially broad so she wouldn't laugh at the unexpected term of endearment- or blush at how well it seemed to sound, coming from his mouth.  
  
"It was fine," she reassured him. "I'm sorry I'm so late getting here- are the rooms all right?"  
  
"Oh, yes, it's a great suite," he smiled. "But I have to confess that, since my train was delayed, I only just got here myself. But look at you- you must be freezing! Come in, out of the cold, all right? I think that the nice lady at the desk said something about there still being some hot chocolate down in the kitchen, if we felt so inclined."  
  
"Mmm, sounds good," Sydney decided, so Vaughn and the bellhop escorted her up to their suite on the third floor, where she was almost too chilled and tired to notice how nice everything was.  
  
Actually, that is not, strictly speaking, true. She glimpsed, through open French doors, a turned-down King-sized bed, and felt her muscles tremble delightedly at the sight.  
  
"Can I skip the hot chocolate?" she asked, pointing to the bed, once Vaughn had tipped the porter to get rid of him, and hauled the suitcase into the bedroom.  
  
"Sure," he smiled. "I know you must be tired- I, at least, got a chance to rest up yesterday before coming here. And you should know that our wake-up call is coming at eight, so we have plenty of time to get ready for the museum benefit tomorrow."  
  
"Oh, I'd forgotten about that," Sydney frowned. "So I get less than five hours' sleep? That's just wrong."  
  
Vaughn laughed, as he rooted through his own bag - also located in the bedroom, for the sake of appearances - and dug out everything he would need the next morning, so he wouldn't have to burst in on Sydney while she was getting ready.  
  
"Then you had better get started right now," he suggested, and, wishing her a good night, he left the bedroom, carefully closing the doors behind him.  
  
Sydney smiled to herself as she located some pyjamas, and tugged them on, not even caring if they were going on the right way or not. She threw a glance at her toothbrush, but then a yawn overtook her, and, deciding that oral hygiene could be overlooked for one night, tumbled into bed.  
  
She was asleep before her head even hit the pillow, and the only dream she had that night, before waking up to the insistent purr of the telephone next to her ear, was of Vaughn.  
  
***  
  
Before she had to lift the ringing receiver, she heard Vaughn do so in the next room. He mumbled a few indistinct phrases before calling,  
  
"That was the wake-up call. You going to get up now?"  
  
"Five more minutes," she called back, and let her head fall down against the pillow. She heard the door bang shut before she drifted back to sleep to continue her dream. She didn't get too far- it seemed like only seconds before the phone rang once more, and she swiped at it impatiently when it wouldn't stop, mistaking it for her alarm clock at home.  
  
She succeeded in knocking the receiver off the table, and, since the ringing ceased, allowed herself to fall asleep again.  
  
Meanwhile, Vaughn stood in line at the Tim Hortons down the street from their hotel, glaring at the menu as the call he had put through to their room went unanswered. He was about to give up when the ringing ceased, he heard a loud clatter, and his heart jumped. He ran out of the shop, his double double and oatcake remaining behind on the counter.  
  
Sydney, meanwhile, fell back into her dream. Through a faint white haze, Vaughn looked through a lock of slightly longer hair and smiled, but his eyes went swiftly from happy and kind to glassy and unfamiliar. She screamed as he fell forward, his head landing on her lap. She pulled her hands away from his body, red blood sticky on her hands from a wound she couldn't see.  
  
She bolted up from the pillow just as Vaughn skidded into the room, not coming to a halt until he was kneeling at her bedside, relief and concern intermingled in his expression.  
  
"Syd?" He kneeled before her, his forehead wrinkling up. "I called you, to see if you wanted me to get you something to eat, but all I got was this bang. Are you okay?  
  
"I'm fine- I knocked the phone off the stand, and I just had a bad dream, is all," she reassured him gently, forcing a sleepy, weak smile.  
  
"You scared me," he admitted. "I mean, the clatter was bad enough, but then I came back and I was just walking down the hall when you screamed and I thought . . ."  
  
Syd grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I know. Francie says I'm rather vocal when I'm dreaming. I remember this one time during my freshman year in collage, her boyfriend Baxter started calling me the Screamer."  
  
She giggled slightly, embarrassed that she was telling the story.  
  
"I even got a few dates out of that one!"  
  
Vaughn felt himself flush. He knew all her vital stats, but almost none of the really important things. Her favorite color, comfort foods, even her favorite song were mysterious, forbidden things he suddenly felt he ought to know.  
  
"Look, since I made you leave our food behind, why don't we go out to breakfast?" Sydney suggested, oblivious to his thoughts. "Then I thought I'd get in some shopping before the museum thing at one . . . Vaughn?"  
  
"Um, yeah that sounds great. I promised Weiss I'd bring him back a snow globe or something anyway. Why don't I let you get showered and dressed, and then we'll leave?"  
  
"Yeah, sure. I'll be out in fifteen minutes."  
  
He doubted - he'd had a girlfriend before - but he nodded as if it were possible.  
  
"Great."  
  
Then, as Sydney gathered up her sponge bag and headed for the bathroom, Vaughn lingered to tidy up his suitcase before going out to dismantle his own makeshift bed.  
  
Hot needles of water pounded into Sydney's skin as her strawberry body wash followed the path of the droplets down the drain at her feet. She massaged the smell of airport out of her hair with shampoo and conditioner, then switched off the water and wrapped a fluffy blue towel around her, stepping out into a strawberry-scented steam. She winced as she looked around the bathroom, noticing that in her haste to reach the bathroom she'd forgotten to bring clothes with her, and not only that, but she had forgotten to close the doors to the living area. Without any clothes on, Vaughn would see quite a bit of her before she managed to close them.  
  
The only other cover available was a short little terrycloth pool robe, even shorter than the bath sheet she had pulled around her, and Sydney grimaced at her lack of foresight. Still, she knew she couldn't stay in the bathroom forever, so she compromised by retaining the towel and adding the pool robe before slipping out of the bathroom to gather more concealing garments.  
  
Vaughn, his head buried in a hockey magazine, couldn't help but glance up as she darted from the bathroom to the French doors. At once embarrassed by what - little - he saw, he forced his eyes away, but his thoughts refused to comply to that same command.  
  
She had the doors banged shut in under a second, and Vaughn let his head clunk against the headboard. This was going to be a lot harder than he had first thought.  
  
***  
  
Breakfast was taken in the hotel café before they asked directions to the Halifax Link, which would take them to the shopping centre across the street.  
  
It may have been early, but already the place was bustling with last-minute Christmas shoppers waiting impatiently for the shop keepers to open their stores.  
  
Sydney and Vaughn, who were pressed for time but not rushed, wandered along examining the exquisite boutiques, men's tailors, and flower shops that were nestled together as shoppers pushed, grumbled and stomped, and the owners called good-natured greetings to each other as they opened their stores.  
  
The women's clothing stores had a particular pull for Sydney, whose dress for the charity function was non-existent. She moved toward the window full of delicate fabrics and elegant dresses. Vaughn followed her, playing the part of an attentive husband, and tried to figure out what such a husband would be thinking in a situation like this. He would probably, Vaughn guessed, try to imagine how the garments would look on her. Or off her.  
  
He shook his head slightly- Took that whole 'in character' thing a little too far, there, Mike, he grimaced.  
  
"Would you like to look around?" Vaughn asked her warmly, settling a hand on her arm.  
  
"I would, only- you're sure you won't be bored?" She cocked her head to the side and stared into his eyes until he felt his knees weakening, and groped for a concealing response.  
  
"Of course not! I'll be happy to give you my expert opinion," he suggested at last, his tone mock-haughty. Sydney giggled a bit and allowed him to lead her into the shop.  
  
They browsed for almost twenty minutes, fingering the fabrics and examining the cuts, before Sydney had picked out three dresses from among the many to try on in the tiny dressing room at the back of the store. She piled the two spares into her "husband's" arms and swept away to put the third on, emerging a short time later to model it for him.  
  
Her first choice was a floor length midnight blue cocktail dress. It was just provocative enough to make her feel feminine, but not low cut enough to make her freeze in the late December air, or to make her feel guilty if any guy tried to hit on her. Her shoulders were covered, if barely, and the vent on the right side reached only to her knees. Vaughn smiled his approval as she twirled for him.  
  
"You like it?" she wondered, and he nodded.  
  
"I do- especially the style. Classy, and sophisticated, but still feminine. It's you."  
  
"Yeah, I love the style. I'm just not sure navy blue works for me."  
  
"It works," Vaughn said with feeling. "Believe me, it works."  
  
Sydney wrinkled her nose in an amused, little-girlish smile that said she thought his opinion was both biased and incorrect before snatching the second one out of his arms, and disappearing back inside. When she came back out, Vaughn struggled to retain his control over his bottom jaw- and for good reason.  
  
  
This was a vibrant red creation that dipped all the way down to the small of her back and showed enough cleavage to have any man drooling oceans. She looked seductive as she stuck her lip out in a pout and took advantage of the mid-thigh length slit by extending one leg, the effect diminished only slightly by the winter boot she was wearing.  
  
It wasn't a gown- it was an incitement to riot.  
  
Sydney didn't even have to ask him what he thought- it was written all over his face.  
  
"I thought myself it was a bit much," she said, "even for an evening event, much less a brunch. But if I were to go by your face- is this it, then?" she wondered, almost teasing now, and Vaughn gulped, then shook his head.  
  
"The only person," he said with feeling, "that should see you in that is your husband. Me," he covered quickly, "I mean, me."  
  
He shoved her back into the dressing room and tossed the last dress in after her, banging the door shut to shield her from the eyes of the elderly gentleman clerk, who seemed to have developed a staring problem in the last thirty seconds.  
  
She emerged a few minutes later in her third and final choice. It was a simple white cocktail dress, the vent on the left side acceptably modest for a day time function. This, along with the borderline reasonable cut of the neckline, balanced out the fact that there was really no back to the dress at all. In fact, if the back were cut any lower, the police could find grounds for arresting her on charges of indecent exposure.  
  
Somehow, though, she saved it from becoming inappropriate. Maybe it was the way her eyes were fastened only on him, as if she couldn't care less if the rest of the men in the room spent the entire day staring at her, so long as he would give her even a minute of his time.  
  
Vaughn nodded, and Sydney's eyes lit up.  
  
"This is it, isn't it?" She smoothed the skirt over her hips. "I mean, I know it's a little low in the back for the morning, but I've got a wrap in my suitcase that should cover that up just fine, and- well- I like it. Do you?"  
  
"I love it. You'll turn a lot of heads," he assured her, moving forward to slide an arm around her waist and kiss her forehead. It was an incredibly foreign gesture, and yet it didn't seem strange. And any lingering uncertainties he may have entertained regarding his action were driven from his head by the smell of her hair and skin, and maybe a hint of strawberries.  
  
After all, he rationalized, they were undercover, right?  
  
***  
  
Once the dress had been paid for, Sydney decided they had to be practical.  
  
"I need a winter coat," she announced. "Two- one casual for the hockey game, and walking, and a dressier one for the parties."  
  
"Well- where should we look?" Vaughn wondered, glancing around. "There's a department store over there, and a few more boutiques along here."  
  
"Let's try the boutiques," Sydney suggested, hoping he wouldn't see it as just another excuse to bury herself in the midst of really nice things she'd probably wear only once, if even that, before they got lost in the back of her bizarre wardrobe.  
  
As it turned out, the first boutique they stopped in had a coat in the display window that Sydney fell in love with. It wasn't so much a coat as a warm wrap with buttons tucked discreetly under the fold of the closure, and boasted the elegance required even at small city formal functions. It was black, and would suit both the evening clothes she planned to wear to the party, and the cocktail dress nestled in a bed of tissue paper in the box that Vaughn held for her. When she tried it on it fit her like a glove, and Vaughn nodded.  
  
"It's perfect," he said firmly, and then wondered why, exactly, it was. It wasn't something he would have picked as suitable for Sydney, and yet the whole appearance created by the wrap was exactly right. Maybe it was because the wrap didn't show itself off, the way the dresses had. Rather, it took a backseat, as if its sole purpose was to showcase the beautiful woman who wore it.  
  
Falling in soft folds from her shoulders to her wrists, the deep black of the wool made her skin look almost as white as the snow that sugared the bonnet above the main doors of the Prince George. Her cheeks held only the faintest flush of peach to suggest that she was something other than a perfectly-moulded china doll, and the smile that played over her lips was borne of a woman's confidence in knowing she looks quite fantastic. She looked too perfect to be real, and suddenly Vaughn was afraid to touch her. He ducked his head abruptly, and wondered,  
  
"Going to look for the casual one now?"  
  
"Mm-hm," she twinkled, not at all fooled by the change of subject, "I am. Want to help?"  
  
He did, and they managed to find it- a simple forest green peacoat, and a beige and green striped scarf to match. They paid for both coats and left the shop, business completed.  
  
"Now," Sydney said, "I want to go walking."  
  
"You do?" Vaughn looked down uncertainly at the parcels he held, and Sydney hastened to reassure him.  
  
"Oh, I want to take these back to the hotel first. I'll need to cut the tags off my coat so I can wear it, anyway- I don't want to freeze outside. But when we are walking, where do you want to go? I mean, the public gardens won't exactly be breathtaking this time of year."  
  
"No," Vaughn agreed, pondering carefully as they made their way back to the hotel by means of the glassed-in walkway, traffic speeding by underneath their feet, "they wouldn't. But- hey," he turned to her, interest suddenly   
lighting his eyes, "do you like to skate?"  
  
That was how they ended up in the Halifax arena, lacing up rented skates.  
  
"It's been years since I even went rollerblading," Sydney said nervously, getting uncertainly to her feet, "and these are not rollerblades."  
  
"No," Vaughn agreed, reaching out quickly to grab at her waist and steady her, "they aren't. They're much better. Now, do you want to hang on to my shoulder until we get to the ice?"  
  
"I want," Sydney said grimly, "to hang onto your shoulder until we get off the ice. Otherwise I'll fall flat on my face."  
  
"Oh, no you won't," he smiled reassuringly, "I won't let you."  
  
He was as good as his word. He held her hand the whole time they were on the ice, and every time her skates started to wobble, or her feet started to shoot out from under her - as they did embarrassingly frequently - his hands flew to catch her. By the time the whistle blew for everybody to get off the ice, several people had shot amused glances at what were, to all appearances, a devoted husband and wife.  
  
"That," Sydney grumbled as they passed in their skates and laced up their boots, "was one of the most humbling experiences of my life. Did I, or did I not, almost fall thirty-two times?"  
  
"Well," Vaughn said consolingly, "I think we can round it down to thirty, can't we? And you really didn't do that badly, considering how long it's been since you skated last."  
  
Sydney did not appear to be overly mollified, but at least she slipped her hand into his as they left the arena together, and headed back to the hotel.  
  
It was all Vaughn could do to remind himself that she was just doing it to make them fit their cover, and all he could do to convince himself that he was looking at her so often, with such devotion, for the same reason.  
  
"How much time do we have?" Sydney wanted to know when they reached the hotel room, and she headed for her purchases.  
  
"Uh- a little over half an hour. Should I call a cab?"  
  
"No, don't bother. The limo driver from last night said he was on call for us the whole time we're here- some sort of holiday bonus courtesy thing, or something. If we're going to pose as influential people, we might as well act the part, right?"  
  
"Right," Vaughn agreed. "Now, did I hang my blazer up, or is it still in my suitcase?"  
  
"You better hope you hung it up," came Sydney's muffled voice from the bedroom. "Otherwise, you'll never get the wrinkles out in time."  
  
Fortunately for Vaughn and the hotel laundry service, the Armani blazer was located in his closet, along with the shirt and tie that he had brought to go with it.  
  
"I hope we'll match," he said suddenly, as he slipped into the shirt. "I mean- you're wearing white. I'd match you if I were wearing a tux, but it's only one o'clock, so if I turned up in a tux, they'd know something was strange about us."  
  
Sydney's answering giggle was one of pure amusement.  
  
"When I was twelve years old, Dad sent me to three months of etiquette lessons so I'd become a proper lady, and he could get rid of me for the summer," she announced. "That's how I know what you said was true, but what's your excuse for knowing what you shouldn't wear to a fundraiser brunch?"  
  
"My mother," Vaughn sighed, "as you know, is French. She devoured every society magazine she could get her hands on since the second she entered this country, so she would be sure not to embarrass my father at social functions. She inflicted upon me the fruits of her study. That is my excuse. Now, come out here so we can see if we match or not."  
  
"Coming."  
  
Sydney emerged wearing the dress and a soft violet pashmina. Her hair was combed sedately over her forehead, then brushed back and twisted up on the crown of her head. Thanks to the violet wrap, she matched Vaughn. His shirt and tie had rich, dark plum hues and lighter blue ones, respectively, to counteract the formality of his dark blazer, and the khaki pants he wore with them dressed him down to an acceptable level.  
  
"We," Sydney decided, after they surveyed their reflection in the dresser mirror, "look like we belong together."  
  
"Yeah," Vaughn said quietly, slipping his hand into the crook of her elbow, "we do. Now, let's just hope we can convince everybody else of the fact as well." 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3/7  
  
The museum was packed when they arrived, but the room where the brunch was to be held was set well away from the public area. A footman took their alias - Green - and suggested that they take in the artwork gracing the walls before seating themselves.  
  
They took him up on his suggestion, walking slowly around the long banquet table to admire the variety before them. Sculpture, statuary and paintings and sketches of all mediums were laid out with a minimum of security that made Sydney antsy.  
  
"I keep expecting trouble," she confessed to Vaughn in a low voice. "I mean, anytime there isn't a bank of infra-red beams protecting something valuable, I get a little nervous."  
  
"It's your upbringing," he chuckled, slipping his arm around her waist for - he told himself - the benefit of the other people scattered throughout the room. "Now, try to relax, okay? Look at this one, here. Isn't it incredible?"  
  
It was, and they soon lost themselves in the beauty that surrounded them, trying to take everything in at once. It was rather like dropping a child in the middle of a candy factory, and telling him to take his time- he can't. He has to run from one thing to the next, devouring greedily the wonderful treat he's been given.  
  
When at last the dinner chime was sounded, and people moved to seat themselves, Sydney and Vaughn were both exhausted from trying to take it all in.  
  
"I hope this is a short brunch," she muttered to him, before they were whisked away to their places.  
  
As was generally the custom at a fundraiser brunch, the more important people had tables assigned to them, all within clear view of the stage. Oddly enough, Vaughn and Sydney seemed to rate VIP status, as had their table been any closer, they would have had to sit in the speaker's lap. Soon, though, Sydney saw why.  
  
"That," Vaughn hissed, nudging her and nodding toward a slender young woman with short, dark hair being led toward them, "is Charles Wallace's daughter-in-law. She lives in Halifax, and she's a big patron of the arts- her husband is probably around here somewhere, too."  
  
Sure enough, a young man caught up with her before she reached the table, and pulled her chair out for her to seat herself before he, too, sat down.  
  
"They've done a wonderful job, haven't they?" he volunteered, smiling at Sydney and Vaughn. "They really pulled a lot of strings to get some of these pieces here on time."  
  
"Well," Sydney pointed out, with the air of one who knows what she's talking about, "this is hardly just another fundraiser, is it? Except for the Wallace Ball, this is the fundraiser."  
  
"I agree," the young woman smiled, and shot her pink-cheeked husband a fond glance. "See, Clark? What did I tell you?"  
  
"Oh- not Clark Wallace?" Vaughn looked amazed, as if he had just recognized him. Clark nodded, still embarrassed.  
  
"Michael Green," Vaughn said promptly, extending his hand. "And my wife, Sydney. We're going to pop into the ball before we head back to Colorado on Christmas Eve. Will we see you there?"  
  
"Most likely," Clark nodded. "Dad's big on family appearances, even if he spends eleven months out of twelve down in Virginia, so yes, Trish and I will definitely be there."  
  
"Well, it's the holidays, isn't it?" Sydney smiled, reaching over to place a wifely hand on Vaughn's own. "It's a time to be with family. That's why I came in with Michael- we were supposed to have a quiet little country Christmas at our winter house in Hammonds Plains, but when the firm said they needed Michael to come in and spend the week, then of course I came with him."  
  
"You didn't want to commute?" the woman, Trish, frowned. Hammonds Plains was only a half hour's drive or so from downtown Halifax.  
  
"Not in these weather conditions," Sydney said firmly. "You never know around here."  
  
"No, that's right." Clark agreed. "If you don't like the weather in the Maritimes, just wait a minute or two."  
  
The conversation would likely have gone on from there had a beaming woman not climbed the stairs to the stage and addressed the crowd in a distinctive Nova Scotia accent.  
  
"Good morning, everybody!" she trilled. "Good morning, and thank you so much for taking a few minutes out of your busy schedule to come and support the Halifax Art Museum. It's delightful to see so many of you are here, and I hope you will enjoy your breakfast. I'm told the cooks have been slaving over this all morning, so it should be most delectable indeed. Now please, won't you give a warm welcome to our chairwoman and the head of the fundraising committee, Dr. Charlotte Dawe!"  
  
Everybody applauded as Dr. Dawe made her way to the stage, pitched a mercifully short spiel on the benefits of a classical education such as the museum struggled to provide, and then said she hoped everybody would enjoy their meal and have a safe and happy holiday.  
  
The meal that followed was, indeed, fantastic, but it was a little hard to concentrate on. Sydney and Vaughn, anxious to preserve their cover, snuck little peeks at the Wallaces to see how they were acting towards each other, and then attempted to match their behavior. This meant they did everything from holding hands to making eyes at each other, and barely paying attention to everything going on around them.  
  
Sydney had mixed feelings about what they were doing- she was happy, because it seemed to be such a simple thing to accomplish- it felt as if she had been doing it all her life. She was also a little nervous, because- well, it was so easy to pull off. It seemed as if she had been doing it all her life, and though she would never have admitted it for the world, it made her want to do it for the rest of her life as well.  
  
***  
  
Once the first course had been served, a string quartet emerged to play for them. They were obviously "local talent" but they weren't that bad at all, and performed quite well through the rest of the brunch.  
  
Vaughn finished eating early, and rapidly grew uncomfortable just sitting at their table, so he squeezed Sydney's hand and leaned over. "Let's dance, Syd," he said softly into her ear. She grinned and gracefully extracted herself from the table.  
  
The swung around the floor, moving perfectly to the beat of the music. Vaughn dipped his head and whispered again into her ear: "Don't you think it's odd that we're dancing at a brunch?"  
  
Syd chuckled into his shoulder.  
  
"This isn't exactly social central, Michael," she chided, and sure enough, rather than being scandalized or even condescending, people appeared to be watching them with great delight.  
  
"Besides," she went on, "Maritimes or not, the rich are generally supposed to be refined, and therefore know how to dance."  
  
"And when to dance," he pointed out. She laughed.  
  
"So what? Any excuse to show off. Besides- you asked me, remember?"  
  
"But you said yes."  
  
She rolled her eyes.  
  
"I'm glad I did, too! You can really dance! Danny always stepped on my toes." She hesitated, but then realized she was really okay to recount stories from a happier time. Vaughn, too, seemed to catch that, and began to do the same.  
  
"My mom enrolled me in dance lessons when I was almost eight," he admitted. "It was just before he died, and he was starting to let me tag along to social functions. Mom was hoping he'd get promoted, so she insisted that I make a good impression."  
  
He winced slightly as he thought back.  
  
"I spent six weeks with bored housewives and their husbands."  
  
Syd laughed freely, happy to be getting a peek into her handler's life. He was so mysterious, so impenetrable. Whatever she could do to get him to open up a bit more, she would gladly oblige.  
  
Before she could speak to him further, though, she noticed something both amusing and delightful  
  
"Look," she nudged him. "We're trend-setters."  
  
Indeed, other people were starting to follow their example, gentlemen leading their ladies out into the narrow area in front of the stage where there were no tables. The quartet rose to the occasion and switched to dance melodies, so it wasn't long before almost half those present were getting up, and following their example.  
  
"I love this," Sydney smiled, watching as couples ranging in age from early twenties to late fifties danced, or tried to fake it. "No running, no hiding, no wishing I was somewhere else- this is how I'd love to spend the rest of my life."  
  
After a few more songs, the string quartet set their instruments down and Dr. Dawe returned to address them once more, Vaughn and Sydney were near the back of the room, they snuck out the back door.  
  
"How long do we have until the hockey game?" she wanted to know, as they relaxed once more in the back of the limo. Vaughn checked his watch.  
  
"A good eight hours. Why?"  
  
"I want to do something before then, but we'll have to change first, of course."  
  
"Why?" Vaughn wondered. "What did you have in mind?"  
  
A good hour later, he knew.  
  
"No way. Sydney, there is no way-"  
  
"Oh, come on, Michael!" she coaxed for the benefit of those around them. "Just give it a try!"  
  
"Sydney, that is a wild animal. There is no way you're getting me up there."  
  
"Please?" she clasped her gloved hands under her chin, her already full bottom lip jutting out even farther. "Please, please, please? She's a perfect sweetheart, I promise you. I asked for the quietest horse in the stables just for you."  
  
Maybe he should have been grateful, but looking at the massive bay mare they had presented him with, Vaughn found it hard to work up the appreciation he knew he ought to feel.  
  
"You're asking me to sit on a horse."  
  
"No, silly," she sighed, "I don't just want you to sit on her, I want you to ride her! Mom and Dad gave me lessons ever since I was just little- it's one of the most fun things I've ever done, and I just know you'd love it, too, if you'd only give her a chance."  
  
"Sydney, if I gave this a chance, it would be the last chance I ever gave. I just know it."  
  
Sydney sighed.  
  
"Fine. Then you can stay here while I go. I paid for two hours' worth of hacking and hot chocolate after, and I am not about to be gypped out of that."  
  
Vaughn, watching her nod to another stable hand who led over a slightly larger gelding, couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as she buckled on the helmet offered her and swung easily up into the saddle.  
  
As she lifted the reins slightly and clucked at her mount, he felt himself give away.  
  
"All right, all right. Just- how do you get on this thing, anyway?"  
  
***  
  
Mounting was not as difficult as he had imagined it would be. Not with the steps they provided for him, anyway. It only took him one try before he was up in the saddle, and finding it surprisingly comfortable.  
  
The horse was not only reassuringly wide beneath him, she was warm, and alive. She eyed him with something like mild interest as he hesitantly scooped up the reins, and Sydney rode closer to instruct him on how to hold them.  
  
"Fit them between your pinkies and ring fingers- that's it. Now just lift them a bit, and cluck to her."  
  
He did, and was honestly surprised when the mare listened, starting to walk pensively along beside Sydney's own horse.  
  
"They said her name was Sugar, right?" she prompted. "Talk to her. Pat her."  
  
"I'll pat her," Vaughn allowed, "but talk to her?! I am not talking to a horse!"  
  
"Humph," Sydney scowled, then turned to give her own a firm pat on the neck. "Well, we don't want to associate with him, now, do we, General?"  
  
General either didn't understand her, or didn't let on that he did, but Vaughn was still mildly offended to be snubbed in favour of an animal that slept in a stable and ate the same meal every day. There was something injuring to his dignity about it.  
  
So he turned to his horse, and said,  
  
"Well, we don't need them, either, do we, Sugar?"  
  
It took him a few seconds to realise that he had played right into Sydney's hands, and when he did, he looked up at her with an 'Okay, you can feel free to laugh at me right now,' look on his face.  
  
She obliged, but only for a moment, quickly smothering the giggles, clearing her throat and touching her lips with one leather-gloved hand.  
  
"Sorry," she smiled, and he thought the dimples that appeared as she did were the sweetest things he had ever seen.  
  
"Don't be," he chuckled. "Please, don't be. I set myself up for that one. Laugh all you like."  
  
She was too good, though, to obey. Rather, she shook her head, and said, "No. I won't. It would be rude. Let's talk about something else- the ballet, maybe? What are they performing, anyway?"  
  
"The night before Christmas Eve?" he arched an eyebrow. "The Nutcracker, of course."  
  
"Really?" she looked delighted. "I love the Nutcracker. My mother took me every year- it was a girl thing. The first time we went, Mom was five months pregnant with me, and we went each Christmas after that right up until . . ." she trailed off, pursed her lips, and looked down at the reins. "Until she left," she finished quietly.  
  
Vaughn looked stricken.  
  
"Syd, I'm so, so-"  
  
"No," she interrupted, "it- it's okay. I don't mind talking about it. We- well, that was one of the first things I thought, actually, when she disappeared- who was going to take me to see the Nutcracker?"  
  
Her smile was wistful.  
  
"My nanny took me."  
  
She ducked her head and examined her gloves once more.  
  
"It just wasn't the same. And when Dad found out, he was furious, and told her not to take me again. That was the last time I saw it."  
  
Vaughn's face clearly said that his heart was breaking in two.  
  
"Syd, I-"  
  
"Would you listen to me!" she gasped, a little breathless. "All mopey, and here it is almost ! What do you want to talk about?"  
  
He smiled. He wasn't going to get anywhere further on that subject, and that was for sure, so he changed it obediently.  
  
"Well, who do you think will win tonight? Mooseheads or Wildcats?"  
  
She rolled her eyes.  
  
"Yeah, that's a really fair question to ask a person who hasn't seen either team play before," she snorted, and he smiled.  
  
"Sorry. So- based on the names, who do you think will win?"  
  
"The names?" she was amused. "Vaughn, they're hockey teams, not books."  
  
"Humour me," he begged, so she rolled her eyes, and smiled.  
  
"Fine. Seeing as one is named after a deadly predator, and the other after a beer, I'd have to go with Wildcats."  
  
He nodded, and smiled.  
  
"Fair enough, I guess. So, after the excitement of tonight, will you be able to settle down in time for tomorrow?"  
  
"After how little sleep I got last night, and the excitement of the hockey game tonight," Sydney retorted, "I will sleep right into tomorrow afternoon- if not later than that."  
  
Vaughn smiled, but this quickly changed to a look of surprise as Sugar's head snaked out to one side to tug at a few blades of dead grass sticking up from below the snow.  
  
"Don't let her get away with that," Sydney advised quickly. "Give a hard yank- that's it. Now tell her she was a good girl to listen to you."  
  
Feeling slightly foolish, Vaughn did, patting her somewhat awkwardly on the neck while Sydney watched, smiling.  
  
"A bit different from your dog, isn't she?"  
  
"Yeah, a bit," he admitted. "I mean, she actually listens when I tell her to stop doing something. You should see Donovan- he's like a little cannonball when he'd got a target in mind."  
  
"I'd like a pet," Sydney admitted, "but I can't really manage it, what with - well- you know." She shrugged.  
  
"The travelling," Vaughn finished, understanding.  
  
"Yeah," she made a face. "The travelling."  
  
They fell silent, their eyes falling to the reins. When they spoke again, it was about ordinary things, and the conversation continued in this manner for the remainder of the ride.  
  
***  
  
"I don't have anything to wear," Sydney scowled, some hours later in the hotel room. Vaughn glanced up from the sink where he was brushing his teeth, surprised.  
  
"What do you mean, you don't have anything to wear? It's a hockey game. You can wear anything."  
  
"No, Vaughn," she corrected, "you don't wear anything to a hockey game, you wear something. There's a difference."  
  
"Is there?" he was honestly surprised.  
  
"Yes, Vaughn, there is. Anything implies just that- anything from pyjamas to your father's twenty-year-old suit he keeps for the sole purpose of annoying your mother. That is anything. Something is something that you reach out and grab, not really checking to see what it is, but it's still clothing. In other words, it's not just anything- it's something."  
  
Vaughn's eyes were slightly crossed at the conclusion of this narrative, and Sydney, seeing, blushed.  
  
"Sorry. I think I can find some jeans and a shirt, if I look again. Ii just- well, I may have brought a lot, but it always seems like I never bring the right things, you know? I could bring everything in my closet save for one outfit, and when I arrive, it turns out that I can't possibly wear any outfit but that."  
  
Vaughn laughed in sympathy, finishing with his toothbrush and setting it back in his travelling kit.  
  
"You set for a romantic dinner of hot dogs and sodas on the bleachers?" he teased, and Sydney smiled before shutting the door to the bedroom so they could continue their conversation without compromising her virtue.  
  
"Yeah, all set. We do get around, don't we? Which reminds me- where were you thinking we'd eat tomorrow night?"  
  
"I don't know- were you thinking of a dinner before the show, or after?"  
  
"Um- it's at nine, right?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then we had better eat first. It runs what- three hours, doesn't it?"  
  
"Three and a half. Almost four."  
  
"Ugh, then we had definitely better have dinner first. No way could I wait that long."  
  
"So- reservations for seven thirty sound all right to you?"  
  
"Perfect."  
  
"Great. Only- I still don't know where to make them."  
  
"Well . . ." Sydney pondered. "I don't know the restaurant district too well. You had better see if they can recommend anything at the front desk, all right?"  
  
Vaughn agreed that this sounded all right, then wondered if she was done.  
  
She was, and proved it by emerging, dressed in jeans and a pullover with a snowflake print. She looked about twelve, and he had to smile at her flushed cheeks and eager expression.  
  
"I don't suppose that you're actually getting excited about this game, are you?" he wondered, handing her the coat and scarf she had purchased earlier that day.  
  
"Very," she confessed, tugging the coat on and draping the scarf behind her neck. "I've never seen a Moosehead in action before, so this is my big chance, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes," he agreed, smiling, as he shrugged into his own coat, "I guess that this is your big chance. So- are we taking the limo?"  
  
"To a hockey game? Are you kidding? Call a cab. Box seats or not, you just do not take a limo to a hockey game."  
  
Suitably chastened, Vaughn called for the cab, and was promised that it would arrive within minutes. Thusly assured, he opened the door, and made a sweeping bow to Sydney, gesturing that she should precede him through. She laughed, tucked his hand in hers, and pulled him through behind her.  
  
***  
  
The cab was delightfully prompt, and they settled down together in the toasty warm back seat as Sydney gave their destination, and the cabby, pulling away from the curb, at once launched into a detailed prognosis of the likely outcome of that night's match.  
  
They tried to pay attention, but found it rather hard, because their attention kept drifting back to the Christmas lights that decorated the lamp posts. Little trumpets, wreaths and bells all twinkled down onto the sparkling snow, and both Southern-raised adults found it hard not to press their noses and palms to the glass like little children waiting for Santa.  
  
"It's beautiful," Sydney said wistfully, and Vaughn smiled at her before quietly affirming,  
  
"Yeah. It sure is."  
  
When the cabby realised they weren't hearing him he fell silent, and the rest of the drive to the coliseum was completed under a heavy blanket of awed quiet.  
  
It broke when they arrived, of course- it was, after all, a hockey game.  
  
Vaughn paid the driver, thanked him, and Sydney threaded his arm through his as they made their way to the brightly-lit doors and joined the crowd that was rushing in.  
  
It didn't take too long to find their seats, and they were pleasantly surprised to discover that the chairs actually had a thin padding of lather on them, and so would not be overly uncomfortable.  
  
"Your seat, m'dear," Vaughn's eyes twinkled, and he held down the spring-loaded seat for Sydney to sit on before he took his own.  
  
She looked at the ice, gleaming white under the fluorescent lights, the red and blue lines standing out in stark relief, and felt a thrill of delight.  
  
"I can't believe we're here," she sighed, settling back. "This- I didn't think this would happen for a few years, at least."  
  
"What, watching the Mooseheads get their butts kicked by the Wildcats?" he teased, and she laughed.  
  
"No, you nut, the hockey game. We talked about it, I know, but I didn't even like to think about it, because I knew how long it would be before we actually could. Or rather," she corrected herself, "I thought that I knew."  
  
"How does it feel to be wrong?" he wondered, and she looked up steadily into his eyes as she answered.  
  
"Wonderful."  
  
Vaughn smiled.  
  
***  
  
The game was surprisingly intense, when one considered that they were just local teams. Sydney watched the players with avid interest, her gaze straying from the ice only once when, largely for the benefit of the others seated in the box around them, she put her hand on Vaughn's arm and murmured,  
  
"I'll bet you could do better, dear."  
  
He laughed, and slid an arm around her shoulders. It felt so right, somehow, that even after he had given her a gentle hug he left it there, and Sydney made no move to pull away.  
  
The middle-aged man sitting beside them, his two sons and tiny daughter gaping at the action on the ice, glanced over and smiled at the young couple. As the whistle blew, he leaned over and addressed Vaughn.  
  
"You have a lovely wife," he smiled, "and I couldn't help but be reminded of my own when I saw you two together."  
  
"Oh- well, you're very fortunate indeed, then," Vaughn smiled, as Sydney looked over, and grinned at the littlest boy, who was falling asleep on his father's shoulder.  
  
"Yes," the gentleman agreed, "we are." He offered his hand. "I'm Frank Webber."  
  
"Michael Green, and this is my wife, Sydney."  
  
"How do you do?" Sydney smiled, reaching out to take Frank's hand in her own.  
  
"Well, thank-you, young lady. And- are you two from around here?"  
  
"No," Michael admitted, "we're from Colorado, but my firm has a branch up here, do when they found out we have a winter home in Hammonds Plains, they took advantage, and asked me to put in a little overtime."  
  
"He jumped at the chance," Sydney sniffed. "He's a workaholic. But we'll be going home on Christmas Eve," she added, "right after the Wallace Ball."  
  
"Oh, are you going to the Wallace Ball, then? Amy and I are as well. my is my wife," he added, rather belatedly. "Maybe we'll see you there."  
  
"That would be wonderful," Sydney said warmly, then glanced at her watch.  
  
"Sweetie," she murmured, "if we're going to get supper . . ."  
  
"Yes, yes, don't let me keep you," Frank smiled. "Go on and get something- I have to take these ones as well. Come on, sleepyhead," he added, hoisting his little boy to his shoulder as Sydney and Vaughn got to their feet, and headed toward the concession stands.  
  
"Well, we accomplished what we wanted," he smiled. "We met somebody who will be there, and who can back up out story if people wonder who we are."  
  
"So what, you want to go home now?" Sydney teased, as they joined a lineup for the Greco stand. Vaughn looked surprised.  
  
"Do you?"  
  
"Well," she pointed out, "if we were really married, we would. But- we're not. And I'd love to see then end of the game, if you would."  
  
Vaughn smiled.  
  
"I was hoping you would say that. So-" he gestured to the counter. "What do you want on your pizza?"  
  
***  
  
  
The Wildcats won the game, but Sydney and Vaughn almost missed it. They were too busy debating the merits of pepperoni versus hamburger on pizza.  
  
"Pepperoni is classic!" Vaughn maintained. "Really, you just do not eat a pizza without pepperoni. It isn't right! It- it's unAmerican!"  
  
"Don't be silly!" she rolled her eyes. "I never liked pepperoni because when I was little, I always tried to take little bites, and the pepperoni made it hard because the whole piece would always come away in my mouth, and it would be too much. I had," she reflected, "a very tiny mouth. And now- I don't know." she shrugged. "I guess it just stuck with me."  
  
"You mean you don't eat pepperoni on your pizza at all?"  
  
"No, that's not what I mean. I mean that, given the choice, I would choose hamburger any day."  
  
Vaughn eyed her doubtfully.  
  
"Well . . ."  
  
She laughed, and looked up just as the whistle blew.  
  
"Hey, look-" she sounded surprised. "It's over."  
  
She looked at the scoreboard, and laughed.  
  
"Didn't I tell you? Didn't I?" she pointed. "Seven to four. That's what you get for naming your team after an alcoholic beverage, rather than a lethal predator. Now, shall we call it a night? I'm bone tired, and bed sounds pretty good to me."  
  
***  
  
Not only did it sound good, but it felt good, too. Sydney couldn't even remember changing into her pyjamas- all she knew was that, as she crept in under clean sheets and tugged the top on right up to her chin, she didn't think she could be so comfortable anywhere else in the world at that moment.  
  
The bed smelled sweet and clean, and it was soft underneath her. Her head touched the pillow, a little smile touched her lips, and she was asleep before Vaughn could even open up the couch. 


	4. Chapter 4

4/7  
  
***  
  
Sydney slept well into midday the following day. It was nearly noon by the time she stretched out luxuriously in bed, and peeped through closed eyelids at the sunlight that filtered through the heavy drapes. She had caught up on most of what she had been cheated of the previous night, and felt thoroughly rested as she remembered to close and blot the French doors before slipping into the bathroom, and enjoying another shower.  
  
By the time she emerged, dressed, clean and coifed, Vaughn was up and waiting for his own turn in the shower.  
  
"I'll call down to the restaurant and order breakfast," she suggested, "while you get ready, all right?"  
  
Vaughn agreed that this seemed like a reasonable plan, so she took his preferences before he disappeared into the bedroom, and Sydney sat down with the phone in the living area to dial down to the restaurant.  
It took quite a while to make sure they had to correct order, but even so Vaughn wasn't done when she hung up, so while she was waiting Sydney slipped into her new coat and headed downstairs to take a little walk.  
  
The streets were now crowded with people, and she delighted in losing herself in their midst. People scrambled to get their Christmas shopping completed, sometimes hauling spouses and/or children along behind them. Others seemed to be dazed, as if the whole rush had either just gotten to them, or had gotten to them so long ago that it had numbed them completely.  
  
She watched a little girl try to convince her parents that she needed nothing in the world so badly as she needed a toy displayed in a shop window, and smiled at their exasperated pleas for her to come away with them, and wait to see what Santa brought.  
  
Older children, not really children so much as young adults, giggled and whispered together as they ferried their own purchases homeward before the intended receiver could come along and see what they would be getting.  
  
The whole atmosphere was a delicious one, and Sydney reveled in it, taking her time about heading back to the room.  
  
When she did get there eventually, Vaughn looked up, unable to conceal his relief at seeing her walk through the door.  
  
"Syd, you have no idea how worried-"  
  
"Oh, gosh, Vaughn, I'm sorry!" she gasped. "I should have left a note, or something- knocked on the door, even, and told you- I just wanted to take a walk, and- I'm sorry. Really. It will never happen again."  
  
The look in his eyes was haunting, and she found it oddly comforting, as well as slightly surprising, to see how worried he must have been over her absence.  
  
"It won't ever," she repeated gently, "happen again."  
  
He smiled slightly at her, and rubbed his face with one hand.  
  
"I'm glad," he admitted. "Now, are you feeling up to eating? Because personally? I'm starving."  
  
Sydney smiled.  
  
"Let's go downstairs," she invited quietly. "We need something to eat."  
  
***  
  
Things loosened up over the breakfast - well, lunch, really - table, and soon they were laughing easily together.  
  
"No, seriously," Sydney insisted, "it was my lifelong ambition to be a Sugar Plum fairy! I didn't care about Clara in the least- I just had to be a fairy."  
  
"Well," Vaughn said, trying to wipe the colossal grin off his face by hiding it behind his napkin, "that's very- sweet, Sydney."  
  
"Okay, okay," she rolled her eyes, "I've bared my soul to you- now it's your turn."  
  
"What, you want embarrassing childhood stories? No way. Not gonna happen."  
  
Sydney pouted, pleaded and implored, but Vaughn refused to budge. He simply would not give in. At last she sat back, and frowned.  
  
"Fine, then, I'll just have to meet your mother and ask her."  
  
Vaughn paled.  
  
"You wouldn't."  
  
"Oh, wouldn't I?" she smirked, and he swallowed hard.  
  
"Okay, okay. How about- um- this. My mom and dad were members of the Sea and Shore Country Club, right? Really high end, exclusive stuff. If it weren't for Dad's connections, they'd have never had a prayer for membership, but as it was he made a few calls and they got in. Mom was thrilled to pieces, and they must have spent a week planning our first Saturday there."  
  
Sydney watched, curious, as he swallowed the rest of his orange juice before continuing.  
  
"Well, I was only three at the time, and the whole thing seemed okay, and all- a beach, a playground, and other things that look just fine when you're that age. But what really intrigued me were the sprinklers."  
  
"The what?" Sydney blinked.  
  
"The sprinklers- all over the lawn. The place had a fantastic lawn. It was lush, green, and rolled on for as far as I could see. And to water it, they had dozens and dozens of sprinklers spread out across it. I thought those sprinklers were the greatest thing I had ever seen, and I wanted nothing more than to run right through them."  
  
"Not really?" Sydney was amused.  
  
"Yes, really," he sighed. "But of course, Mom had spent ages dressing me for the occasion. I was wearing brand new shoes, little khakis, a white shirt and a cardigan that probably cost way too much for a kid who would outgrow it in a year anyway. I knew Mom would be furious if I got any of them wet or dirty, but I really wanted to run through those sprinklers, so . . ."  
  
Sydney gaped.  
  
"Vaughn, please tell me you aren't saying what I think you're saying."  
  
Vaughn blushed.  
  
"Unfortunately, I probably am. Out of consideration for my mother's hard work, I waited until she and Dad weren't looking, carefully removed every stitch of clothing I wore, and went scampering through the sprinklers absolutely bare naked."  
  
Try as she might to be sympathetic, Sydney just couldn't help it.  
  
She laughed until she cried.  
  
***  
  
"I think it was very heartless of you," Vaughn grumbled, as they made their way back to the elevators. "Half the restaurant turned to stare."  
  
"I am so sorry, I just- I- Vaughn," she doubled over, giggling, "bare naked?"  
  
He sighed and rolled his eyes.  
  
"Go on, then, have a good laugh. I'll just have to ask your father for more embarrassing stories about you."  
  
"Humph," Sydney sniffed, pressing the button to summon the car, "as if you'd get any out of him."  
  
Vaughn had to admit that it would probably be difficult, to say the least, but that didn't mean he wasn't determined to try.  
  
"The question still remains, though," he added, "of what we're going to do with ourselves for the rest of the day. We still have-" he checked his watch, "a good four or five hours left to put in before you might want to start dressing for dinner, so what would you like for us to do with them?"  
  
"I suppose," Sydney sighed, "that riding is out of the question?"  
  
Vaughn winced, suddenly reminded of the aching muscles that ran the inside length of his legs.  
  
"Quite," he said grimly, and she smiled.  
  
"Fine, then. No riding. But how about something else?"  
  
"Such as?" he asked suspiciously, and she shrugged.  
  
"Oh, I don't know. There's got to be lots to do in this place, right? Do you like to swim? We could try out the pool. Or maybe the exercise room."  
  
"I don't know . . ." Vaughn said dubiously.  
  
Sydney brightened.  
  
"Or," she said, "we could go shopping."  
  
Vaughn blanched slightly.  
  
"Shopping?"  
  
"Sure! I still have a few things I'd like to pick up- I'm sure you do, too."  
  
"Well, I'm not sure that-"  
  
"And aren't I supposed to pick up that statue that's part of my cover? Not that I'll actually give it to him, but I have to do that sometime- why not today? Oh, come on, Vaughn," she pleaded, "let's go shopping!"  
  
She looked so darn cute, he mused. And shopping? What could be the harm in that?  
  
"All right," he sighed, "just let me brush my teeth and get my coat."  
  
***  
  
Two hours later, Vaughn wondered how on Earth he had let himself get roped into this mess. Not only were he and Sydney shopping, but so, it seemed, was the rest of Halifax, and they all tried to fit into the same store as they did.  
  
It was most uncomfortable.  
  
"Sydney," he mumbled into the shoulder of a perfect stranger's coat as they stood in some sort of antique store, "Sydney, I think I may be sick."  
  
"Okay, honey," she said, completely unconcerned as she scooped a vase out from under the nose of another lady, "but try to lean outside, okay? They might notice if you threw up in here."  
  
"You think?" he wondered, and Sydney considered.  
  
"Maybe not. Hey! Hey, how much do you want for this?"  
  
"Fifty-five, ma'am."  
  
"I'll give you thirty!" she called back, and the proprietor didn't even think twice.  
  
"Sold!"  
  
As she paid for it, and the vase was wrapped, Vaughn studied the woman who was supposed to be his wife.  
  
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling with the excitement of the conquest she had made. She tilted her head slightly to the side as she chattered with the owner of the antique store, and accented some of her words with graceful, expressive little hand gestures that reminded him of his mother.  
  
As she accepted the tidy package and thanked the little man, he broke Vaughn's reverie by marveling,  
  
"You have a most beautiful wife, monsieur, and I do envy you her."  
  
Vaughn smiled, and settled his arm around Sydney's waist.  
  
"Yeah," he smiled, looking down into her shining face, "I get that a lot."  
  
***  
  
After that, Vaughn didn't really mind the shopping so much. Sydney asked his opinion on what she should buy for Will, and took input on a gift for her father, though in the end it was she who spotted the well-aged coffee service all the way from Morocco.  
  
"He loves Moroccan coffee," she murmured, as she purchased the set and a bag of beans to go with it. "I remember Mom would make him a cup every morning. Especially Christmas, though- I'd go sailing into their bedroom and land on the bed, begging them mercilessly to let me open my presents, but first, Mom would say, she had to make Daddy his coffee."  
  
Her face grew wistful at the memory, and she smiled.  
  
"I would lie there next to him, feeling to safe and warm cuddled up against his chest and we would talk her through it together. We'd say, 'Now she's getting the bag down, now she's grinding the beans. The hot water is just starting to boil now.' We'd detail the entire procedure, right up to when the aroma would start filling the apartment, and she would bring it in on a tray- the tall urn, and the little tiny cup. She would say that I should wait for him to have his first one in bed, but I would always beg him to let me open my gifts right away, and he would always give in.  
  
"We'd go to the living room, and he'd have his coffee while she had her tea, and they watched me pretty much destroy the entire living room with wrapping paper and candy and toys- I was," she added matter-of-factly, "very spoiled as a child."  
  
Vaughn thought of how Jack Bristow's eyes would rest lovingly on his child every time she entered the room and thought nobody was looking, and how Irina Derevko's gaze would hungrily follow her daughter out of the cell each time she left it, and found himself nodding.  
  
"Yeah," he said quietly, "I can believe that."  
  
She smiled wistfully into the distance for a moment, caught up in the sweet memory of a life too perfect to last forever, and then gave herself a brisk shake to return to the present.  
  
"Well," she said a little breathlessly, "let's go find something for your mother, all right?"  
  
***  
  
They returned to the hotel room in plenty of time to dress for the evening. Vaughn had been bolted into the bathroom to shave once more while Sydney changed, and once he was done he waited until she tapped on the door to signify that she was decent.  
  
Then he came out to find her there, makeup kit in hand, a smile on her face, and an exquisite little burgundy dress clinging to her frame. It stopped knee-length, perfect for dinner and a show, and he couldn't help but return her smile with one of his own.  
  
"Nobody is going to be watching the ballet," he admitted frankly. "You look fantastic."  
  
"Well, just you wait, then," she teased, "until I've put my face on, and then we'll see what you think!"  
  
"Oh, no," he laughed. "Don't change it. Please. I don't think," his face softened, his tone becoming more serious, "that I could stand it if you changed it."  
  
Her own smile faltered, and her cheeks deepened their flush.  
  
"It won't look that different," she mumbled, and slipped past him, into the bathroom.  
  
Had he gone too far? He wondered. He hoped not. But he had felt it had to be said. Now he'd embarrassed her, and for that he was truly sorry. In an effort to relive the tension, he changed the subject.  
  
"Did you call for the limo?" he wondered, and her reply to the negative floated out.  
  
"No, sorry, I didn't. If you would, that would be great. Oh, and be sure to tell him we'll need him at the restaurant in time for the show, won't you?"  
  
Vaughn promised he would, and by the time he had made the call, Sydney was done. She'd left her hair down and shining, and had ever-so-slightly contoured her cheekbones with the blusher so that her whole face seemed to glow. Vaughn swallowed hard.  
  
"Are you ready?" he wondered, and she tilted her head.  
  
"Why? Don't I look it?"  
  
"Oh- yes." He gasped. "Yes, you do."  
  
She smiled, pleased.  
  
"Good. I'm glad. Now, could you please pass me my coat? Our reservation is in twenty minutes, and we don't want to lose it."  
  
***  
  
The restaurant they had eventually settled for was beautiful. Mid-size, pleasantly secluded with muted lighting, soft music and quiet staff. Once they had been seated and Vaughn requested a wine list, they sat back to soak up the ambience. Candlelight flickered from the tall candlesticks that rose on the table between them, Christmas carols played softly in the background, and the world outside looked like a winter wonderland.  
  
"It's lovely," Sydney sighed, her gaze drifting out the window to the snowy streets. "Absolutely lovely."  
  
Vaughn watched her intently.  
  
"Yeah," he said, "it is."  
  
She turned her head and caught his look, her eyes lighting up with a quizzical smile.  
  
"What?" she asked, and he affected a look of surprise.  
  
"What do you mean, 'what'? You made a comment, and I agreed with you."  
  
"No," she smiled, "I made a comment, and you made a different one. I can tell- it's something in the tone of your voice."  
  
Vaughn rolled his eyes as the wine list was brought to their table.  
  
"That's some imagination you have, Mrs. Green," he teased her. "Now, how does a nice Jost sound to you?"  
  
"Not as good as a straight answer," she said crisply, "but I suppose it will have to do."  
  
Vaughn nodded to the waiter.  
  
"A half bottle, please."  
  
The waiter nodded.  
  
"Very good, Sir."  
  
Vaughn turned back to his date, and smiled.  
  
"Now, a straight answer I won't give you, but your Christmas gift I will."  
  
"My what?" she looked at him, surprised.  
  
"Your Christmas gift,." He repeated. "We might not get the chance tomorrow night, so I thought I'd give it to you now. That is," he added, "if you want it."  
  
Sydney held out her hands in response, and Vaughn laughed at the "Gimme, gimme" look on her face.  
  
"All right, all right. Close your eyes."  
  
She looked at him, surprised.  
  
"What is, this, charades?"  
  
"Close your eyes," he insisted, and she rolled them, but he remained firm.  
  
"I'm not going to give you your gift until you close your eyes," he maintained, so at last she closed them, and waited.  
  
Before he handed it to her, he cautioned,  
  
"You have to keep it upright, okay? Don't tilt it, or anything."  
  
She nodded that she would, so he reached over the table and pressed something cold, hard and smooth into her palms. Opening her eyes, she saw that she was holding a diminutive fishbowl, in which swam a brightly-coloured fish, trailing long silky-looking fins behind him like so many royal robes.  
  
Her eyes opened wide.  
  
"Vaughn, he's gorgeous!"  
  
Vaughn grinned.  
  
"He's a Siamese fighting fish- a beta. A very solitary fish- he's lethal. Males will fight each other to the death, so don't get any ideas about giving him company. I just thought, when you were talking about wanting a pet- maybe he'll do, until all this is over."  
  
Her eyes shone as she smiled at him.  
  
"Thank you," she said quietly. "Thank you so much."  
  
She then returned her gaze to her vibrantly-coloured acquisition, and watched in awe as he shimmered his way around in the water.  
  
"However did you carry him without tipping him over?" she marveled, and Vaughn laughed.  
  
"It took some doing, I won't deny. Once you jostled me in the limo and I was sure I'd have to blow the whole surprise right then and there, in order to save his life, but I managed to keep him level the whole way along. What do you think you'll call him?"  
  
Sydney studied the bowl attentively. The fish was mostly a deep, vibrant blue, with hints of purple and gold running along the raggedy edges of his fins.  
  
"I don't know. He's so beautiful- I find it hard to name really beautiful things."  
  
"Take your time," Vaughn smiled, "it's not like you have to train him to come when he's called, or anything."  
  
"No," Sydney agreed, "I guess not."  
  
The steward arrived with the wine, then, and Vaughn engaged himself in tasting it before accepting the bottle, which was left for them.  
  
Supper was ordered and subsequently brought, and they managed to lose themselves in conversation over it. They talked about their families, Christmases past, and plans for Christmases to come.  
  
"I want my daughters in little red flannel nightgowns," Sydney said, determined, "and for as long as I can force them into them, my sons are going to wear those one-piece union suits - red - with trap doors."  
  
Vaughn blinked.  
  
"I had one of those."  
  
Sydney gaped.  
  
"You did not."  
  
"I did. I wore it until I was five. The buttons broke off, so the trap door hung down, but I didn't care, and until my mom threw it out I insisted on wearing it, and- and I cannot believe I am telling you this. It must be the wine." He blushed furiously, and Sydney laughed.  
  
"I think it's really adorable," she said sincerely, as their dessert was served. "I really do. Do you have any pictures?"  
  
"No!" he blurted. "No, no I do not!"  
  
She eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing, electing instead to focus on the rich, spicy gingerbread the waiter had placed before her.  
  
"Applesauce, Madam?" she wondered, and she nodded.  
  
"Please."  
  
He poured it liberally over the cake, and when he was done she took a bite. Her eyes widened.  
  
"Mm, that's good," she sighed, and since Vaughn was in complete agreement they finished their dessert in sweet silence, mouths too full to speak.  
  
It wasn't much later that he assisted her and the fishbowl out to the limousine, and gave their intended destination.  
  
"Did you enjoy your meal, Sir?" the driver wondered, and Vaughn nodded, smiling.  
  
"It was wonderful, thank you- I'm sorry, I don't believe we even know your name, do we?"  
  
"George, Sir. George Henderson."  
  
"Well, George, the dinner was lovely, thank you, and I hope the ballet will follow suit."  
  
"Oh, I'm sure it will, Sir," George said confidently, "I'm sure it will."  
  
***  
  
George was right. They were not in the least disappointed- it was beautiful.  
  
The music was as stirring as Sydney remembered it being, the performances filled with passion and vibrancy. The colours were a tantalizing delight to the senses, swirling and blending across the stage until one was no longer sure of where anything ended or began.  
  
By the time the curtain finally came down, she was out of breath and in a world all her own.  
  
"I'd forgotten," she whispered, "how wonderful it was . . ."  
  
She remembered all too well the nights of holding her mother's hand as she leaned forward as far as she could in the opera box, straining for every possible glimpse of the stage. Laura Bristow had laughed and smiled, her hand tracing teasing circles on her daughter's shoulder as her child quivered in delight of the marvelous spectacle she saw before her.  
  
"It won't go away if you blink," Sydney," she had chided lovingly, but even though Sydney doubted her mother would ever lie to her, you could never be too sure about these things . . .  
  
Now, Sydney sighed, and tugged her coat a little tighter around her, careful to remember the fish she had tucked under her chair upon their arrival.  
  
"Come on, Michael," she mumbled, "let's go home . . ."  
  
***  
  
Sydney fell asleep in the limo on the way back to the hotel, and as she slept, her head resting against Vaughn's shoulder, he took the opportunity to study her.  
  
She was striking, even in repose, and there was an added vulnerability about her when she slept that made him feel strangely protective of her- something he was sure he would never feel in daylight. Sydney Bristow could tale care of herself, thank you very much, but for the moment she was completely exposed to the world, and it made him want to keep her safe.  
  
Almost without realizing what he was doing, Vaughn leaned over and kissed her gently on the forehead. She stirred, but didn't wake and he told himself it had been only for the sake of preserving their cover.  
  
He told himself- but convincing himself was another thing entirely. There were some things even Vaughn found hard to do, and this one he found well nigh impossible. 


	5. Chapter 5

Sydney again awoke before Vaughn the next day. She didn't remember getting to her bed- how had that happened, anyway?  
  
Shaking her head, she looked over to her nightstand, and saw the fish flitting around in his bowl, looking quite content.  
  
"Hello, fish," she whispered, and he flitted quickly to one side. "I guess I'll have to get up," she sighed, making no move to do so, "but wow, I'm really tired . . ."  
  
The fish made no move to judge her, so Sydney felt her head sinking back into the pillows. They were wonderfully soft, and deep, and warm . . .  
  
When she woke again some hours later, it was because Vaughn was shaking her gently, asking if she wanted any breakfast.  
  
She admitted that she did, and together they went down to the restaurant café to eat.  
  
Breakfast was delicious, and over it Vaughn explained how she got to her bed.  
  
"I carried you up, and you were sort of half asleep. You kept saying that you wanted to change, so eventually I just shut the door, and I guess you changed, but I don't think you were really awake at the time."  
  
Sydney had to laugh.  
  
"When I was little," she recalled, "I would do the same thing. My parents would bring me home some nights after a concert or party or something, and they'd set me on my feet and I'd sleepwalk into the room to get changed. They thought it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. Parents can be terribly unsympathetic sometimes."  
  
Vaughn smiled, and nodded.  
  
"You should have seen mine when I tried to eat about twenty pancakes all at once," he reflected, scraping up the last few morsels of his waffle. "I thought I was going to burst, but they just laughed and laughed . . ."  
  
They finished their meal shortly after, and once they were back in the hotel room, Sydney perched on the bed while Vaughn checked his messages. They were quiet, comfortable in the shared silence.  
  
"Jack called," Michael began, setting his phone on the tiny side table and slouching into the bed beside Sydney. She smiled.  
  
"He always worries when I'm on a mission. I always tell him not to call, and this time I didn't take my cell for that very reason. He never listens." she concluded, laughing.  
  
Vaughn didn't laugh.  
  
"I worry too, you know," he admitted. "I can't sleep when you're on a mission. I usually hang out in my office until I get the word to call you."  
  
He flushed and smiled shyly, embarrassed at his admission. Sydney only nodded slightly, as if she understood.  
  
"I can see that. So- what did Dad say?"  
  
"Oh, something along the lines of 'Keep your hands off my daughter', but I couldn't really decipher what he meant by that," he grinned.  
  
Syd playfully punched his shoulder, giggling.  
  
"He so did not say that!"  
  
"Naw," Vaughn agreed, "he just mentioned a couple of things to keep in mind tonight during the party. Besides the vault where the documents are being stored there is a Bast statue. If you turn the right finger around counter-clockwise that should make the painting swing away."  
  
"How did he find that out?"  
  
"Your mother gave him the intel."  
  
"Oh, okay."  
  
It took a second for the information to register.  
  
"He went to see her?"  
  
"Yes, he needed to know if there would be any little surprises waiting for us."  
  
"But how would she know?"  
  
"She knows Wallace, if indirectly. They've had dealings in the past, and they have mutual contacts. She remembered him telling her when he first acquired the statue- she was very impressed at the time, though the technology is a little outdated now."  
  
Sydney nodded, still absorbing this.  
  
"I guess- well, I guess I'm surprised that he went to see her for me. He's been trying hard to avoid that cage since she was taken into custody."  
  
"Well, he loves you, Syd."  
  
And so do I.  
  
"I know."  
  
***  
  
For the rest of the day, they amused themselves by sightseeing all over Halifax. They hit the harbor, the shopping centre ("So much more relaxing," Sydney had decided, "when you don't have to buy anything,") and finally collected the piece of statuary that was Sydney's cover- and certainly, she said, not to be given to her father for Christmas.  
  
"It's hideous!" she whispered to Vaughn after ascertaining that it would be shipped on their flight that night, "absolutely hideous!"  
  
"It does have a certain- uniqueness to it," Vaughn granted her, helping her down the stairs.  
  
"These are slippery," she frowned, careful to hang on to his shoulder as well as the railing. "Ugh, you could take a nasty spill. But yes, there really is something - different about it. It doesn't look like much of anything- why did you have to choose that one for me to get?"  
  
"Me?! I didn't choose it! I have better taste than that!"  
  
"Well," Sydney sighed, "here's hoping, I guess and- whoop, whoop- whoa!"  
  
No sooner had Vaughn taken his hand from her arm than did her foot hit a patch of ice, and slide out from under her, the rest of her following suit.  
  
She went crashing to the ground, and when she landed she couldn't bite back a brief hiss at the pain.  
  
"Ouch," she muttered, and Vaughn was at her side in a heartbeat, trying to help her up.  
  
"No, no, don't-" she gasped. "It- my leg, Vaughn, I- ow!"  
  
"Syd, we have to get you to a hospital," he said, obviously concerned.  
  
"To a hospital? Vaughn, we haven't got any sort of coverage in this country, and the coverage we have from the US is under our real names. How can we go to the hospital?"  
  
"We'll figure it out," he soothed. "The medical profession is a bit more generous here, anyway- all paid for by the government. I just wish we'd thought to get Medicare cards. Can you stand?"  
  
She could, but not on her own. By now several people had come out of the art gallery to see what the matter was, and George was hurrying around from the limo to offer his assistance.  
  
"Are you all right, Mrs. Green?" he asked, worried. "You took a terrible fall, Ma'am."  
  
"I'm fine, yes, I just- ooh!" she sucked in her breath, and squeezed her eyes shut. Vaughn lifted her bodily from the ground, and started to carry her to the limo.  
  
"Vau- Mike, no, this is just- no! I'm fine, really, I am."  
  
"No, Sydney," he said simply, "you are not."  
  
He nodded to George, who scooted around to the driver's seat again.  
  
"Hospital," Vaughn said abruptly. "Whichever one is closest, George, and step on it, please."  
  
George did.  
  
***  
  
"What?! No! It's fine! Doctor, you have to be mistaken." Sydney tried to struggle off the examining table, but immediately her face twisted, her leg buckled, and Vaughn caught her before she slid to the ground.  
  
"Sydney, you are not fine."  
  
"Yes I am," she whimpered, but allowed him to help her back up to the table.  
  
"It's definitely a sprain," the doctor repeated uncompromisingly. "It must have wrenched under her as she landed- it's a miracle she didn't break it."  
  
"It would probably hurt less if I had," Sydney grumbled, eyeing the limb that was already swelling to a spectacular degree.  
  
"I'll prescribe some anti-inflammatory drugs and painkillers, advise you to stay off that leg for at least a day or two, and use crutches for at least a week."  
  
"A week?! Are you kidding?! I have a job! I have a life! No way can I stay off this leg for a week!"  
  
The doctor glanced at Vaughn.  
  
"Is she always like this?"  
  
"And don't speak about me as if I weren't here! I can hear you perfectly, thank you! Ugh, I hate doctors! They think they're the be-all, end-all, and they just strut around as if they were-"  
  
"Dear," Vaughn soothed, "dear, the doctor is only trying to help."  
  
"But Michael," she looked at him with significance, "what about tonight?"  
  
The doctor, misunderstanding, reassured her.  
  
"You'll still be able to play Santa, Mrs. Green," he smiled. "Your children should be warned not to jostle your leg tomorrow, of course, but otherwise this Christmas should be no different than any others."  
  
Vaughn, though, winced when he realised what she meant.  
  
No way could Sydney slip unobtrusively through the Wallace home with a splint up to her thigh and crutches propping her up. There were some things that people would just tend to notice.  
  
"We'll talk about it when we get home, Sydney," he murmured, as the doctor scribbled away on a pad of paper. "But for now, let's just get your pills and your crutches, and we'll go back to the hotel, all right?"  
  
No, not all right. But Sydney, despite an obvious dislike of her new predicament, said nothing.  
  
In fact, she was silent all the way to the drug store, where they filled out her prescription in a delightfully short time, and then all the way back to the hotel, where she hobbled into her room and slammed the doors with a bang.  
  
Vaughn winced.  
  
"Sydney?" he called. "We really should discuss tonight."  
  
"What's to discuss?!" she fired back. "I'm a cripple! An invalid! I won't be able to do anything there tonight, and you know it!"  
  
"Look, Sydney, I know that this has kind of ruined our original plan, but surely there's something we could do instead, and still manage to get those papers."  
  
"Like what?" she wondered, and he considered.  
  
"Well- we could trade places. I could be on point, and you could be on comms."  
  
There was a pause, and a sniffle.  
  
"But- you aren't field ready, are you?"  
  
"It's a house, Sydney, not a mine field. I'll just have to make do."  
  
There was another long pause, then a sigh, and Sydney emerged.  
  
"Fine," she said, biting her lip. "And I'm sorry I was so short with you- I was just so angry. We came all this way, and I thought- for a minute I thought it would be for nothing. It made me mad."  
  
"I know," Vaughn smiled. "It's just how you are. Dedicated. I admire that about you. Now, do you want to go over this a few times? We're going to need to make sure that everything is ready for tonight."  
  
"So you think we could actually pull it off?" Sydney worried, and Vaughn nodded, with perhaps just a shade more confidence than he felt.  
  
"Sure, I do. It'll take some doing but yeah, I really think we can make this work. Now, I'll get out the comm links, and we'll go over it together."  
  
***  
  
Several hours later, they may not have been quiet as prepared as they would have had Sydney been in her usual condition, but they were feeling pretty pleased with themselves, and were just finishing preparing for their public.  
  
Well, more accurately, Sydney was completing preparations. Vaughn, who had been ready for twenty minutes, sat in his tux outside the hotel bathroom, tapping his finger impatiently on the table and waiting for his date. "Come on, Syd! We gotta go!"  
  
"I'm almost done!"  
  
"You said that the last time!"  
  
"This time I mean it!"  
  
"Women . . ." he said under his breath.  
  
"I heard that!"  
  
"No, you didn't!" he contradicted quickly, laughing.  
  
The door swung open, and Sydney stood before him, looking far classier and - more gorgeous - than he had seen her look on any mission before.  
  
"You look . . . wow." There were really no words.  
  
Sydney's modest dress set off her smoky eyes and brought out the gold in her irises. Her hair was upswept in an elaborate twist. Her lips were red as rubies. Her cheeks were getting that way fast under the intensity of his admiring glance.  
  
"You really don't notice?" she asked uncertainly, gesturing at the plastic splint that encased her leg from ankle to thigh. He shook his head with feeling.  
  
"Nobody is going to be looking at your legs," he said. "Or at least, if they are, they're going to have to answer to me, so they'll be looking away pretty quickly after that."  
  
"Thanks," she blushed.  
  
Vaughn offered his elbow, her crutches tucked under his own arm until she would need to let go of him.  
  
"Shall we?"  
  
She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, trying not to notice how well it fit, and together, Sydney hobbling slowly and Vaughn helping her every step of the way, they left for the party.  
  
***  
  
The Wallace mansion, when they arrived, was already ablaze with lights and music. Couples fairly floated in through the front doors, and Sydney glared at her leg as George assisted them in disembarking from the limo.  
  
"This," she frowned, "is certainly going to be interesting."  
  
Vaughn smiled, and helped her stand.  
  
"Come on," he coaxed her, helping her fit the crutches under her arms, "it'll be fine."  
  
She managed a smile for his sake.  
  
"At least we'll make an entrance, right?" she quipped, and he nodded.  
  
"There's nobody," he said sincerely, "with whom I would rather make an entrance than you."  
  
She flushed slightly, and glanced over at George, who was watching them with unabashed delight.  
  
"Good night, George," she said pointedly. "We'll call you, all right?"  
  
"Yes, Ma'am, Mrs. Green," he smiled. "Yes, Ma'am. And Merry Christmas to both of you!"  
  
They thanked him, and ever-so-slowly made their way to the front doors. Vaughn presented his invitation to the footman waiting for just such documentation, and walked at Sydney's side as she struggled to swing gracefully into the foyer.  
  
There was a gasp or two of sympathy from those close enough to see Sydney's plight, and almost at once a chair was brought over by a well-dressed woman of reasonably advanced years.  
  
"My dear," she said, sliding the chair into a well-lit corner where Sydney would not miss anything, "please, do have a seat."  
  
Sydney flashed a grateful smile, and with Vaughn's assistance she sank into the velvet plush.  
  
"Thank you," she sighed. "Ugh, what a bother. I'm so sorry to trouble you."  
  
"Don't be," the woman scolded. "It isn't a bother at all- what can your husband have been thinking?" with a glance at Vaughn that displayed complete protectiveness of the young woman he was supposed to cherish more than life itself. "Making you come out like that, and on Christmas Eve, no less!"  
  
Sydney's laugh was truly one of amusement.  
  
"Actually," she admitted, "it was I who insisted. I didn't think it fair he should miss out because of me, and he would not leave me at home, so-" she shrugged, and their attendant appeared mollified.  
  
"Well, if you need anything, you just give a little shout," she urged. "What an awful thing to happen so close to Christmas."  
  
And, with Sydney and Vaughn's combined thanks ringing in her ears, she slipped away, leaving them alone once more.  
  
"I think I ought to move here, when it's all over," Sydney sighed. "Everybody is so friendly. And best of all, now I have an excuse for sitting here all by myself."  
  
Vaughn's face twisted in regret, and he laid a concerned hand on her shoulder.  
  
"You don't mind?"  
  
"I do," she admitted, "but I'll get over it. It's just one night. Although . . ." she looked wistfully out at the dance floor, where couples were already beginning to glide around to several instrumental Christmas favorites.   
  
Vaughn, catching the look, smiled too.  
  
"If it were possible," he promised her quietly, "I would have asked you."  
  
"Well, great," she sighed, "just great. Now I'm really feeling sorry for myself!"  
  
Vaughn laughed, and knelt by her side.  
  
"Tell you what," he said calmly, "I owe you a dance."  
  
"Really?" she asked hopefully, and he nodded.  
  
"A dance, and another, for interest."  
  
"I'm going to hold you to that," she warned, and Vaughn nodded, smiling.  
  
"I wouldn't expect anything less of you. Now, are you comfortable? Do you want a drink, or anything, before I leave?"  
  
"No, I'm fine, thank you. I think I see Frank Webber over there- if I wave, he'll probably at least come over to say hi."  
  
"I'm sure he will," Vaughn smiled. "Now, if you're sure you're all right-"  
  
"I am, Michael!" she laughed, giving him a little swat. "No, go on. We have a job to do."  
  
Vaughn nodded, smiling.  
  
"All right then, if you're sure . . ."  
  
"I am, Michael, I'm quite positive! Now, go! But," she added, catching hold of his hand before he could leave her, "please don't be too long, all right?"  
  
His smile widened.  
  
"Believe me," he said fervently, "I won't."  
  
***  
  
The entire Wallace house, it turned out, was as well-lit as the foyer, so Vaughn had no trouble in following the map they had gone over back at the hotel, and ending up in the private wing on the second floor. Once there, though, he had to slow down and be more cautious. One could explain to a certain extent ending up in the wrong wing, but his presence in one this far from the party was all but a dead giveaway that he was not doing anything he was supposed to be.  
  
Now, though, he breathed a little prayer of thanks that there were no guards in evidence. The only security was on the ground floor- nobody was supposed to know what a treasure was hidden in the safe.  
  
Nobody except for Charles Wallace, and whoever the intended recipients of the documents were.  
  
And, of course, the CIA.  
  
Vaughn glanced around, making sure that the deserted hallway didn't contain some hidden figure waiting to spring at him, then opened the door that led to Wallace's private study. He was inside in under a second, and closed the door firmly behind him.  
  
It shouldn't, he decided, take more than a minute or two to get the papers and get out.  
  
Maybe it said something about his upbringing, or perhaps the hours he had spent with Sydney, that he was suspicious of its being so easy . . .  
  
***  
  
Frank Webber did, indeed, respond to Sydney's wave, and led his wife over to meet her.  
  
"Sydney, my wife Amy. Amy, may I present Mrs. Sydney Green? I met her at the hockey game with her husband."  
  
"Delighted," Sydney smiled, offering her hand, which Amy took with a warm smile.  
  
"But Sydney," Frank looked alarmed, "what happened to your leg? And where is Michael, anyway?"  
  
"Michael had to excuse himself," she said tactfully, "but should be back shortly. And the leg?" she gave a little shrug. "I just need to start watching where I put my feet, I suppose."  
  
Clucks and words of sympathy were offered, but Sydney didn't hear them. Rather, her eyes narrowed at the sight of a tall man who looked too protective of the man he stood behind to be a guest touching his ear, and frowning. He leaned forward and tapped on the shoulder the man he seemed to be hovering around, and whispered in his ear.  
  
The recipient of the message frowned, nodded, and waved in irritation that the larger one was to leave him, which he did, taking the same route that Vaughn had when he had left the room.  
  
Sydney bit her lip.  
  
"Would you possibly excuse me?" she wondered, ignoring the mild surprise on the Webbers' faces. "I- I really must . . ." she trailed off, hoping she looked suitably embarrassed, and Amy Webber came to the rescue beautifully.  
  
"Yes, of course, my dear- go ahead."  
  
Sydney nodded, smiling, and carefully fitted her crutches under her arms, hobbling out in the wake of the bodyguard who had taken off after Vaughn.  
  
I sure hope I don't have to go far, she grimaced, then thought, Man, he's going to owe me for this one.  
  
***  
  
Vaughn was not yet aware of the debt Sydney was expecting him to repay her. Rather, he was busy rotating the finger of the exquisite statue, and watching the painting swing back before he stepped up to the safe, and rubbed his fingers together somewhat nervously.  
  
Locks had never been his strong point, but he did all right with them, as long as he was able to focus. And as long as everything remained quiet, he shouldn't have any problems focusing, either.  
  
Ten . . . thirty-seven . . . fifteen . . .  
  
A creak in the hall made him look up suddenly. Was anyone . . ?  
  
But he waited, and heard nothing, so he returned to the task at hand.  
  
Twenty-six . . . forty-two . . . Just one more and he'd-  
  
"Michael!" the voice crackled in his ear so unexpectedly he leaped back and nearly upset a rubber plant. "Michael, get out of there! There's some guy - a bodyguard, or something - coming up. You must have tripped something. You have to go now!"  
  
"I can't!" he hissed back. "I've almost got them."  
  
"Michael, you don't get it! You have to get out, or-"  
  
"One more digit, Syd! Just one!"  
  
His fingers spun the lock, and he felt the tumblers click into place. With a little smile of triumph he caught hold of the handle, wrenched down and swung the door wide open.  
  
There were six file folders stacked neatly, as well as any number of jewel cases and small statuettes. Vaughn scooped up the files, and tucked them up his shirt.  
  
"Got them, Syd," he said, shutting the door, twirling the lock and sliding the painting back into place, "now I'm coming, all right?"  
  
He turned, only to be confronted with a very large fellow in a suit- likely the one Syd had spoken of.  
  
He wished though, that she had mentioned the gun. That way he might not have been so surprised to find it pointed directly at him.  
  
He swallowed.  
  
"Syd, we've got a little problem here . . ." 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you again for bearing with me and my sometimes unreliable computer. Andi, as I said, is still having a block, but the last chapter should be out eventually.  
  
***  
  
Sydney, struggling up the stairs, groaned when she heard the admission.  
  
"I'll kill you," she promised. "With my bare hands, Michael, I will do you in."   
  
"I don't think you'll have to," Vaughn admitted. "This fellow seems willing to accept responsibility for that chore himself, if it's all the same to you."  
  
"Oh, Michael . . ." she whispered, wincing, wishing she didn't feel so helpless. "I'm so sorry . . ."  
  
***  
  
"Give them to me," the bodyguard demanded, advancing slowly on Vaughn.  
  
"Give what to you?" Vaughn asked innocently.  
  
"Whatever it was you took from Mr. Wallace's safe! Hand it over, now."  
  
"I'm sorry," Vaughn said apologetically, "but I 'm afraid that I really don't know what it is that you're talking about. Mr. Wallace mentioned earlier that I might be interested in taking a look at his security system- I'm looking to upgrade my own. I thought I'd take the liberty of looking around. I didn't take anything from the safe- just wanted to see how secure it was. And," he added, "it doesn't seem to be very secure at all."  
  
The man was obviously not buying this. He moved forward still further, the gun never lowering so much as a fraction.  
  
"I said," he ordered grimly, "give it to me."  
  
It was actually Sydney who obliged him, appearing in the doorway and slamming one of the metal crutches against the back of his head with every ounce of strength she possessed.  
  
The man crumpled to the floor, and her look of relief quickly changed to dismay as she toppled over, too, having overbalanced herself with the swing.  
  
Vaughn caught her before she hit the ground, though, and helped her back up.  
  
"Thanks," he breathed, and she shrugged, smiling.  
  
"Hey, you owe me two dances, remember? Couldn't let you get out of them that easily. Now, we'd better be careful- Wallace is still downstairs, and he knows something is up. We have to leave, Michael- now."  
  
He nodded, then did a double take.  
  
"You called me Michael."  
  
She hesitated, then nodded.  
  
"I know."  
  
"But- we're alone now. You don't have to."  
  
She smiled slightly.  
  
"Maybe I want to."  
  
He looked at her for a minute, not quite believing. Then he smiled.  
  
"Fine. Call me Michael. Now, let's go, all right?"  
  
She nodded, and fitted the crutches under her arms once more. Vaughn watched as she hobbled along for a minute, before he reached out and gently stopped her.  
  
"With that leg, it's going to take you a long time. And I'm sorry, we just don't have that, so . . ."  
  
He bent down, and before she could protest he had scooped her and the crutches up into his arms. She made a weak little negative head motion, but he ignored it, and walked on.  
  
"Just for once," he begged her, "don't be so strong, okay? I know how tough you are, Syd- you don't need this sort of thing. Not usually. But just this time, please, see that you need it, okay? And see that I don't mind offering it at all."  
  
Sydney looked as if she might still protest, but then changed her mind, and, smiling, nodded.  
  
"Fine. But," she cautioned, "you owe me another dance for this."  
  
Vaughn laughed.  
  
"Nothing could make me happier," he told her sincerely. "Now, just one more flight of stairs, and we'll call George, and go-"  
  
"Nowhere," Charles Wallace said coldly.  
  
Vaughn looked up, and winced.  
  
He had a gun. Why, oh why, did he have to have a gun?  
  
Vaughn froze, then tightened his grip on Sydney.  
  
"Look," he said, "I think there must be some sort of mistake, here. We were- well, my wife wasn't feeling very well. As you can see, she's had an accident, and somebody said they thought there was a room upstairs with a couch in it. If we're somewhere we shouldn't be, then we apologise, of course and-"  
  
"Save it," Wallace advised him grimly. "I have an intercom system in several rooms in my house, my den included, that runs to a link I can wear in my ear, and it just so happens that tonight, I left it on. I heard every word that passed between you and Rick, and I know perfectly well you weren't there looking for a couch."  
  
Sydney's fingers tightened in Vaughn's lapel, and she bit her lip. If there was anything she hated, it was to know that there was nothing she could do, and this was one of those situations where there was really nothing she could do.  
  
"Now," Wallace said calmly, "I wouldn't for the world dream of disrupting my lovely party and upsetting all of these wonderful people just for the sake of a few papers, so why don't you just make this easier on all of us, and give back whatever it was you took from me? I will let you walk out the doors and away from this without a scratch- quite a generous offer, seeing as at the moment, you have everything to lose and nothing to gain by a refusal."  
  
Vaughn didn't like the way the gun dipped slightly so that it was aimed at Sydney when he said "everything to lose," and he was surprised to find that there was no conflict warring within him. He would have thought, even a day ago, that he would find it hard to make such a choice, but not he couldn't even think that there might be any other alternative.  
  
"Of course," he said calmly. "Just let me put her down, and I'll give them to you."  
  
"Michael, no!" Sydney clutched at his shirt. He gave her an amused little smile.  
  
"Syd, I really don't think he's given me much choice, do you? Now, I'm going to set you down- can you stand all right?"  
  
"I- yeah, I think so, but-"  
  
Michael didn't wait to listen to her protests, but set her down ever so carefully before removing his hands from their resting spots on her waist, and steadying her gently. She glanced up at him, worried, and wobbled slightly.   
  
She hissed slightly in pain when her foot brushed the ground, but soon regained her balance.  
  
"Michael, be careful."  
  
"I will, don't worry." He pulled away from her.  
  
Wallace was still sneering at Vaughn, his foot tapping impatiently.  
  
"All right," Vaughn said calmly, "you can have it, but first you have to promise me my wife's safety."  
  
"Done. Now give me the file." Wallace held out his hand, his gun holding steady on Sydney.  
  
Vaughn stepped out cautiously, knowing what the only chance they had was, prepared to do it, but still rather unable to believe that he was about to do it.   
  
The second he judged his body to be completely filling their captor's line of fire he whipped around, swinging his legs underneath Wallace. The man fell heavily to the ground, the gun discharging, the bullet flying harmlessly up into the ornately-sculpted ceiling.  
  
Vaughn immediately stomped his foot on the wrist connected to the gun, causing Wallace to gasp out in pain. He leaned over and wrenched the gun from Wallace's hand and pistol-whipped his with it, causing his head to loll.  
  
"Okay, Syd. Let's get out of here."  
  
Sydney raised an eyebrow at the unconscious man, and slid her arm through Vaughn's elbow.  
  
"I'm impressed," she murmured, as he helped her down the stairs. "Very - ouch! - impressed."  
  
"Here," he scooped her up once more, and she shook her head feebly.  
  
"Michael, no, don't bother, I'm fine, really, I-"  
  
"Shh. You aren't. Now, let's go."  
  
A few people looked up, smiling, as Vaughn carried his "wife" across the foyer, making his apologies to the people they had spoken with as he went.  
  
"She just isn't up to it," he explained, and there were understanding nods all around. The nods, though, changed to giggles and murmurs as they reached the doorway, and Vaughn looked back, curious.  
  
"What is it?" he wondered, and Amy Webber spoke, her eyes sparkling.  
  
"Look up, Michael."  
  
He did, and felt his face immediately flush a deep, burning crimson.  
  
He stood, with Sydney in his arms, directly under the mistletoe.  
  
She looked up at him, laughing despite the twinges of pain that were threading their way up her leg, and arched an eyebrow.  
  
"Well, Mr. Green?" she wondered. "How do you plan to get us out of this one?"  
  
He smiled.  
  
"Any suggestions?"  
  
She considered.  
  
"I have one . . ."  
  
It wasn't so much a suggestion, really, as a demonstration. She reached up, fitted her hand around the back of his neck, and pulled his face down to hers. Their lips met with considerably more force than either had originally intended, and appreciative cheers burst out all around the foyer.  
  
"They think," Vaughn mumbled, when at last they reluctantly broke their kiss, "they think we- we do this all the time."  
  
"Well," Sydney said softly, "I don't feel like we do."  
  
"No?"  
  
He leaned in.  
  
"Maybe we can try to create the illusion, at least . . ."  
  
There was an abundance of coos as they kissed once again, for a considerably more drawn-out period of time. Then, blushing and grinning like fools in love, they collected their coats and went outside where George was waiting to drive them back.  
  
"The hotel, George," Vaughn said quietly, "and then- then we'll be gong home."  
  
George nodded.  
  
"Very good, Mr. Green."  
  
He helped them into the back and walked around to the front, not seeing the couple, supposedly so happily married, sit at extreme opposite sides of the backseat, expressions troubled and confused as they tried to figure out what had just happened between them; as they tried to figure out if they even wanted to know.  
  
***  
  
Sydney remained with her crutches in the back seat of the limousine while Vaughn went into the hotel to gather their bags, the fish, and check them out of the hotel. She watched the snowy landscape remain unchanging, and envied it its constancy. If only life, she mused, could be even half as stable . . .  
  
When he returned, he passed the fish over without a word, and she clutched it on her lap as they rode in silence to the airport. They had traveled several blocks without exchanging even a glance when both simultaneously took advantage of the rolled-up privacy window to turn to each other and speak.  
  
"Vaughn-"  
  
"Sydney-"  
  
They broke off, smiling, and he gestured for her to speak, but she shook her head, and ducked her head to look at her new pet, swimming around in a little Mason jar.  
  
"I'll need to name him," she murmured at last.  
  
"There's no rush," he reminded her, but she just shook her head.  
  
"Everything needs a name," she insisted, so Vaughn considered carefully.  
  
"Scales? Fins?"  
  
"A real name, Michael," she laughed, so he shrugged.  
  
"I don't know, then. Just- just name him something to remind you of this trip, okay? So every time you look at him, you can remember. I don't want- I don't want you to forget it."  
  
Sydney's lips twisted up in a sweet smile.  
  
"As if I could," she sighed, then studied the fish.  
  
"Something to remind me of the trip, hmm?"  
  
She was still considering, when Vaughn spoke to her again.  
  
"I- Sydney, I- about our time here, I- well, I just wanted you to know- I enjoyed it. A lot."  
  
Sydney nodded, smiling.  
  
"I know. I did too. I just . . ."  
  
She shook her head, searching for words.  
  
"I just . . ." she hesitated, unsure of how she ought to proceed. "These past few days . . . I've had a lot of fun, Michael, and I want to thank you for that. I don't- I don't always get to feel so normal, even if it is only for show. I enjoyed it. A lot. And I guess- I guess I just wanted to thank you for being a part of it."  
  
Vaughn's face broke into a smile.  
  
"You even enjoyed spraining your ankle?"  
  
"Well," she blushed, "that part, I'll admit, was a little less than thrilling. But the whole experience . . . the being real, even if it wasn't all real . . . that, I loved, and that, I'll never forget."  
  
Vaughn nodded, his smile still present, but sadder, too.  
  
"I wish . . . " he hesitated, then spoke boldly, "I wish it could have been. Real, I mean. I saw- I saw how much fun you had. I know you don't get to have a lot of fun these days, and . . . well, for your sake, I wish we could have stayed even a day more, so you could have had it just a bit longer. If I could have given you any Christmas gift," he spoke with such sincerity it nearly made her cry, "that is what I would have given you."  
  
She unbuckled her belt to relocate herself to sit beside him, so she could snuggle in under his waiting arm. They sat like that, his arm draped around her shoulders, for the remainder of the ride to the airport.  
  
A ride that, like the delightful little charade they had created over the past few days, was over all too soon.  
  
***  
  
Chapter 7 should show up eventually, whenever Andi gets it finished. Thanks for being patient with my faulty computer and reading anyway! 


End file.
